Charlie Chaplin Day for Democracy: The Day in Review

If you don't know what the Charlie Chaplin Day for Democracy is then it might be worth reading yesterday's blog entry or this video might not make much sense.

www.theacre.net

acrecomedy@gmail.com

www.youtube.com/acrecomedy

@adamgilder

Charlie Chaplin Day for Democracy

It is a day before the very first 'Charlie Chaplin Day for Democracy', and I am as yet undecided as to how I am going to mark this occasion.

To explain, for any of you who might be unaware of this occasion, it is a day pioneered by the UK’s foremost hardworking, experimenting, vulgarising comedian himself, Richard Herring. The idea comes off the back of his latest comedy show, Hitler Moustache, where he picks apart fascism, and in particular how fascism shanghais certain symbols, and twists their meanings to their own ends.

Both historical examples such as the swastika, which the Nazis nabbed from Eastern traditions (it features positively in Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Mithraism and Shamanism), and modern examples, such as the BNP cynically co-opting the image of spitfires and poppies, are discussed, with most of the focus falling on the eponymous Hitler moustache.

Herring argues that the toothbrush moustache, an inherently ludicrous item of facial decoration, was originally under the ownership of comedy, as it famously belonged to Charlie Chaplin, who Hitler is believed to have stolen it from. Chaplin later used the likeness to satirise Hitler in The Great Dictator, in which he sends a strong anti-fascist message.

The idea and aim of the ‘Charlie Chaplin Day for Democracy’ is to encourage people to adopt a toothbrush moustache for the day, in order to reclaim the moustache for comedy, much as labels such as ‘queer’ and ‘nigger’ have been reclaimed by the very groups that they once repressed. The hope is that this guerilla toothbrush-moustaching (that’s right, everything is a verb now) will help make a pertinent pro-democracy statement, especially in a time where voters are being ubiquitously described as ‘apathetic’ due to clandestine and illicit behaviour by MPs, which enabled ignorant border groups such as the BNP and UKIP to gain more credence.

So here is the crux of the matter for me personally.

I am a bearded gentleman, it is very much within the scope of my ability to shave down to a toothbrush moustache, for the 16th (incidentally, the date was chosen as it is Chaplin’s birthday, although handily it has fallen during the election campaign this year, meaning that political awareness is particularly high). I also have the desire to shave down a toothbrush moustache, I have always found the moustache amusing, most likely due to the assumed inherent inappropriateness of wearing it. I was once caught by my old headmaster in the middle of a water-fight (inappropriately located in the 6th form common room) where I had swept my sodden hair into a sharp Hitleresque style, and wore a ripped tab of a label of bottled water on my top lip. He was understandably angry, but I believe that having styled myself in the facial representation of a young chubby Welsh Hitler confused him to the point where he expressed a general disgust of the water-fight, and I was able to claim innocence, despite being soaked through and bedecked with a faux-toothbrush moustache. All the other participants claimed they were just following orders.

There are a number of problems with my moustache-based plans. For one, I work for the council, in an environment where I largely supervise children, and I am uncertain how wise it would be to sport the fuzz around them. Whilst reading Richard Herring’s blog one child once declared “he looks like Hitler” and then didn’t much care when I explained that Herr Herring was a comedian attempting to reclaim the moustache. More than likely the child was merely attempting to be a nuisance. Which he was. In fact, all children are a nuisance, that’s why they eventually grow up.

I’m not really sure what the policies of the council would be on this, whether, as an employee of this public-funded organisation, I would get into trouble for sporting it. Would a toothbrush moustache be inherently viewed as a political statement? Certainly if I decided to shave down and come into work with heavy meat chops I very much doubt people would assume I am protesting the new rules over taxation of cider. (I am 22, I deeply feel I shouldn’t be aware of changes to tax). Considering that the political parties are now all campaigning in the run-up to the next election, would it be appropriate for me to bedeck myself with a toothbrush moustache, though it might not be construed as a political statement, that would be the overt aim, or is this acceptable as it is a pro-democracy message, rather than one in favour of a specific party.

I also plan on recording a part of a new sketch tomorrow, the original idea once again belonging to Dafydd, who came up with our first one. I’ll leave out the topic so that it is something of a surprise but the sketch is set up as a faux-terrormongering news report, with me as the reporter, and I feel that the added extra of a toothbrush moustache would add an extra element of eerieness to what I hope will be doom-laden delivery.

My conclusion at this point is that I am definitely going to shave it down for the sketch, but I am uncertain as to whether it’d be wise to have it while in work. It would certainly be an interesting experience, and I imagine it’d easily fuel tomorrow’s blog, where I could perhaps provide some conclusion to all this theorising.

I think perhaps I want to wear the toothbrush moustache for the same reason I kept my eyes open during prayer in assembly as a child. It is a mix of feeling as though I am doing something which is against the rules, while also agreeing with the ideology behind it. I kept my eyes open because I didn’t, and don’t, believe in any almighty, and I want to join in with the reclamation of the toothbrush moustache because I am against fascism.

But how much of either example is simply the desire to be a bit naughty?

I feel it is wrong to sign off with a ‘seig heil’, but I have the uneasy feeling that I have done so before in a previous entry, so best not to get to a point where searching this blog will throw up multiple examples of the phrase ‘seig heil’, which is why I’m never going to type ‘seig heil’ in this blog again.

I can only hope I’ve spelt ‘seig heil’ incorrectly, perhaps it is meant to be spelt ‘sieg heil’.

Damn, I have been hoist with my own ‘sieg heil’-based petard.

The Guff of Vapidity

Today, I was almost killed by Richard Herring.

I was at the wheel of a moving automobile when through the mesh of my speakers came an unexpected reference to Quantum Leap. I can’t really explain why I found this quite as funny as I did, but the force and depth of the laugh this joke drew from me turned my arms to lead and blurred my vision. Luckily the route I take in to work is so familiar unto me that I am able to take it masterfully even in my comedy-weakened state.

AIOTM is a strange beast, and I am particularly drawn to the occasional awkward pause. A notable pause in the most recent release, number 7 I believe, came after a joke where AIOTM was described as “the longest suicide note ever”, lending the comment a, hopefully accidental, feel of hopelessness and desperation. Which amused me greatly.

I’m dragging this out as I have nothing in particular to discuss, as my creative attention is still very much taken up by the radio. A cycle of preparing-performing-editing has begun, and as of today I have finished editing last weekend’s shows, meaning it is already time to be looking toward next weekend. I figure this cycle of single-minded creativity probably isn’t wholly healthy, but there we are. I am still pleased with the state of affairs, satisfied with a consistent goal of my own choosing. And also there are much laugh to be had, which is always a good thing, no?

I am purposefully attempting to be needlessly flowery and purple in order to flesh out this entry, which is essentially vapid guff, which I feel I should probably apologise for, but at the same time I am simply gushing this out stream of consciousness in order to pass some time, and distract myself from everything banal and mundane that pesters and whinges for my attention. Ironically, an attempt to escape from banality has merely produced this piece of extended banal bumph. What I have discovered is that, in the wrong hands, irony is unamusing.

I have spent this week so far editing the radio show, branching out musically and listening to mellow Malian Salif Keita, as well as reading The Importance of Being Earnest. Pro-active creativity, world music and Oscar Wilde, I am incredibly cultured now and I would like a badge to prove it please.

The Observer music countdown where I first heard of Salif Keita, whose album Moffou was judged to be the 8th greatest album of the decade, has since let me down, as I have now discovered they believe the 7th greatest album to be The White Stripes’ Elephant. This, coincidentally, is the only White Stripes album I own, having bought it using gift vouchers I won for something or other, probably attendance (good), while still in school. It is one of my least favourite albums, one of the few that I own that I genuinely dislike. It has a place alongside Eminem’s The Marshall Mathers EP (a gift from a friend) and Good Charlotte’s The Young and The Hopeless (to my embarrassment, I must admit that I purchased that of my own free will, with quite a lot of excitement if I remember correctly) in my ‘Albums I am embarrassed to own’ category. I also have Madonna’s Beautiful Stranger and the New Radicals’ You Only Get What You Give, but they are singles and don’t count (and they are also good).

I know this as I recently trawled my album collection in order to harvest tracks to play on the radio. The only track that made it onto my playlists from an embarrassing album was an Avril Lavigne track titled Naked, which is only on there so that I can follow it with the weak one-liner “That was Avril Lavigne naked”.

I am such a genius, I despair of myself.

Bumming Herring: Nyum Nyum Nyum

The seemingly all-encompassing nature of the internet has had an unquestionably huge effect on the world of comedy. Anecdotes and retrospectives of the comedy of yesteryear suggest that acts would often keep the same material for many years, refining it maybe, but continuing to perform what was essentially the same set. The prodigious popularity of video streaming sites now goes a long way to ensure, or perhaps force, comedians to have a far greater turnover of material. Though the vast majority of viewers understand that a comedian's set is a pre-prepared batch of material, and will be performed many times, it is perhaps a bad thing for a comedian to have multiple 3-8 minute clips of them on the internet performing the same material. This is something that is not always possible for comedians to monitor, as a deft mobile recording from the audience is out of the comedians hands.

The comedian Rhod Gilbert discussed one effect of video streaming websites whilst on his radio show, explaining how, when appearing on Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow he had to decide whether to include certain material, luggage-based, in his set. The reason behind this decision was that the material already existed on YouTube, and has received a colossal number of views (it eventually went in, as a BBC1 audience was felt to be different enough from a YouTube audience).

Although the internet's effect can be seen to be troublesome, it has also offered many new avenues and opportunities for comedy to explore. I will take as my case study one Richard Herring, as he is an act who has a huge presence on the internet, amassing quite a splendid array of electronic notches to his internet-based bow. My familiarity with his works are, without doubt, down to this vast internet presence. I first became aware of Mr Herring several years ago, after being linked to one of his videos from a clip of a Stewart Lee appearance on Edinburgh and Beyond. My lack of awareness was soon quashed as a huge back-catalogue of his work is available online (and importantly - for free). The ready availability of a blog, scripts (both commissioned and not), plays, TV and radio shows ensured, and ensures, that for anyone who has an interest in his work, there is much there for the taking. The helpfulness of this possibility might only extend to more established acts however, as regardless of how much material you are able to link to, a newer act simply will not have the depth of material to offer.

The internet also offers more real-time comedy opportunities which, again, are able to be highlighted using Richard Herring as an example. Utilizing the sites and services of facebook, twitter and whichever new incarnations begin doing the rounds all help 'maintain a presence', and for the most part continued visibility is likely a good thing. The interactivity of these sites also help harbor closer relationships between acts and fans, which is, again, a good thing (but could lead to stalkerish behaviour but that's unlikely to happen ever I love you Richard). The appearance of the podcast as a format is another effect of further internet developments, and the efforts of Mr Herrin (and Mr Collings of course) still stand out in the bountiful podcast field as they are strictly 'for podcast' creations. (Audio) Podcasts are, by and large, excerpts from existing radio shows, and while these are still enjoyable, there is an added joy to be had from hearing a podcast recorded for podcast's sake. The most exemplary of these, in my opinion, include Collings and Herrin (surprise!), The Perfect Ten and Peacock and Gamble. The huge added effort put in by Adam & Joe to add new material to their podcast goes a long way to making it a splendid creature.

With the advent of iPlayer, alongside the monster that is YouTube, so much TV footage is now readily available legitimately, or at least without complaint, for free on the internet. As someone who often experiences the wonders of the BBC almost purely through the medium of the internet, I began wondering whether or not television and radio as we know them are on their way to becoming obsolete. There is certainly no need for a separate TV or radio systems when my computer could provide the exact same services (though I did once enter a strange place where I was using the internet browser of a PS3 to load up the iPlayer in order to listen to the radio - THIS IS THE FUTURE). One of the factors which suggest that the current radio and TV systems may prevail is the amount of money it takes to fund a show, which isn't there for people wanting to create things for the internet (though 'webisodes' are perhaps attempting to buck this trend), hence how the aforementioned formats are generally available for free. It is, yet again, Richard Herring who is leading the charge in this arena, with plans to create a sketch show in the autumn, which will be available for free on the internet, where the costs will be managed by having a live, paying, audience. Previous comments made by the man himself suggest that the monetary side of this would be in the same area as having a radio show commissioned by an organisation, with the added bonus of having full control over the content. No need for, perhaps, over-sensitive censorship, also the initial need for a commission is leap-frogged, though a sort of commissioning process would occur democratically, in terms of the need for a paying audience. Whether or not this system would work for other formats is even more uncertain.

I personally wouldn't be hugely upset to see TV and radio succomb to the same fate as VHS and his pals, as I am attached by the soul to the internet regardless. The internet has made it possible to see, hear and read the work of comedians with utmost ease (I am uncertain about forays into scratch-and-sniff internet) and also enabled cottage industries to safeguard and provide shows that would have been lost (the destined-to-be-legendary gofasterstripe).

Hopefully the advances of the internet will ensure that it becomes more and more the case that comedians will not have to be mainstream and bland/safe in order to see their ideas become a reality. And when that point is reached I hope caps will be doffed and heads will be dipped to the internet-content pioneer Richard Herring. Only time will decide whether he is the most groundbreaking comedian of this internet age, or a fucking idiot.

Shipping Up to Bristol

The roads are a dangerous place, as I found out, secondhand (luckily for me, not the people involved), on a trip to Bristol.  Only a few short minutes after the trip had begun, we noticed that a car was stuck blocking a junction, as it had been unceremoniously shunted all up its behind.  A police car was further blocking the road, lights akimbo, presumably dealing with the situation.  Having passed this makeshift accidental blockade we realised that in fact the situation was not as we had presumed, as the police car was in fact playing the role of the shunter in this particular scenario, sporting heavy damage to its headlights.

I have been told, in regards to matters of the road, that the vehicle that does the rear-ending is always in the wrong.  Always. ALWAYS.  Unfortunately I doubt I will ever know whether or not the police vehicle was in the wrong in this situation, as there are a number of ways this accident could have come to pass.  The police car could have been reacting to an emergency, and the speed of this could have caused the collision, however the likelihood that the police were reacting to anything with haste is unlikely (satire, ba-zing).  The other option is that the driver of the police vehicle was careless and caused the accident out of his own ineptness, and having been the victim of a crime myself and subsequently having dealt with the police first hand I am in no position to comment on whether or not I found the police to be inept.  Another, and less libellous, stance to take is that accidents happen so deal with it, which also allows me to move on nicely to the next section.

Another accident we noticed, this time returning from Bristol, was between a car and a motorcycle.  This one had occurred on the motorway, and as such the accident was of a far worse scale.  Not for this accident was the small braking of the headlights and the bumpers, no, this accident was the harrowing scene of a crumpled windscreen, and a Suzuki rent asunder.  Several meters in front of the remains of the vehicles, which had been moved onto the hard shoulder, was the exploded, inside-out carcass of what must have been the motorcycle driver.  If the motorcycle driver was a hedgehog.  And frankly, if a hedgehog had become so filled with ideas of bipedal grandeur and had commandeered a motorbike then I think he got what he deserved, the reckless knock-off porcupine.  I apologise in advance if any of the family of those involved in the accident are reading this, I know full well that RTA’s are no laughing matter, especially when there are hedgehogs involved.

 

We were shipping up to Bristol in order to acquire some tickets that we had purchased over the internet, from a venue which didn’t post them out which was very inconvenient thanks.  However the resulting day trip we had in order to pick up the tickets was enjoyable, so I suppose I do forgive you (especially bearing in mind we could have picked up the tickets from the box office on the night of the performance, it was almost as though we were looking for an excuse to go on a road trip).  We had very little trouble getting into the city, which was good because having a troublesome journey would have been troubling.  Having parked up all nice, we alighted from the vehicle (a car) and set out in search of the Tobacco Factory.  The main issue I have with the Tobacco Factory as a venue (having never been inside) is that it has situated itself very near to a building which houses Imperial Tobacco, an organisation which does function as a venue for theatre and live comedy, which means that had I actually gone through the second set of doors and asked the employee at reception about the Richard Herring gig she would have been extremely confused and I would have been all embarrassed up.  I appreciate that the Tobacco Factory probably takes its name from what it functioned as before it become a stellar home for live arts events, and it is likely that the presence of a Tobacco company near to this workplace is related to that, but I think they should be shipped apart so that I don’t get into situations of minor inconvenience and embarrassment.  If you could move Imperial Tobacco rather than the Tobacco Factory that would be awesome, as I would then not have to rediscover the location of the venue for which I am looking for, thanks.

 

One of the objectives outlined for me and my chauffeur as we journeyed to Bristol was to get a better grasp of the accent displayed therein, as we righteously enjoy turning our hands, or mouths / vocal folds, to the imitation of other accents.  We were, therefore, slightly surprised, though not in a negative way, to discover very few accents that we could pin down as Bristolean.  In fact, the only two utterances (bar ours) that we heard during our time in Bristol proper were one of a besuited man loudly declaring “Lunch!” as he oozed into his supercool car in what I would describe as 1960s received pronunciation.  Similarly the lady who worked at the box office, where we received our tickets with no problems, spoke with an over-polite RP and an air of incredible enthusiasm.  I cannot be sure whether this is how she always talks (probably not) or whether she realised from my opening gambit that I was from Wales, decided that I was thus a member of Britain’s special needs class and adjusted her tone accordingly.  Either that or she once had an awful run-in with a Richard Herring fan in her past, and ever since she has treated all of his fanbase with a degree of zealous pomp.  The way I just described her sounds pejorative, but I am sure she is a wonderful person really, and I certainly found her train-station-announcement stylings very amusing.

 

Bristol seems to enjoy more than its fair share of joggers, either that or escaping from muggings are taken far more casually there.  I was most struck by the contrast between the people jogging on the side of the road, and the people who could be seen in the parking lot of Cribbs Causeway.  I found myself exclaiming: “Look, there’s Onslow from off’ve the Keeping Up Appearances!” many times, to which my chauffeur eventually took exception to, even though I wasn’t talking about him.

 

Overall, I quite enjoyed Bristol, though I think perhaps I should point out that I do not have a chauffeur - I have a friend who drives, which is essentially the same thing, and neither am I as old as using ‘Onslow’ as a pop-culture reference would suggest.  Also when I first said it out loud I declared that the man in question looked like ‘Oslo’, which is far more of an insult, as while Onslow is a large man, Oslo is (I discovered after some research) the biggest and the Capital city of Norway.  I didn’t mean to describe the unsuspecting shopper as the “fastest-growing Scandinavian capital” (Wikipedia, 2009).  At the very most he was as big as Norrköping.

Cancelled Lessons

Cancelled lessons/lectures/seminars are an interesting phenomenon.


I remember clearly that there was no greater event than a free lesson. A lesson where you reach your classroom and discover that the teacher standing there is a substitute. You think:


“The teacher isn’t in”


Soon followed by:


“Free lesson” (I have excluded gratuitous exclamation marks, but in my memory they are there).


In school (or in mine anyway) a free lesson was an ‘anything goes’ pass for an hour of acting like a complete hell-child. The relief of not having whichever lesson had been scheduled is akin to a mini-christmas out of season. It is truly a sadistic bonfire night in the brain. I shudder to think of the anguish that my class put naïve sub teachers through, although a number of my humorous memories of school come from these situations. Sub teachers have a habit of saying incredibly strange things such as:


“Obey me child”, “No wonder the devil reigns supreme in this world with little children like you asking people if they want eggs” and “I used to be fat and stupid when I was young too” (All real examples).


There is a process that morphs this perfect state of free lesson into something else, and it intrigues me. The first hints of skewing happened, for me, in sixth form. Here cancellation of certain lessons begun to have less positive effects. I feel this is largely because I began to enjoy lessons in sixth form, and also that there was so much free time provided in sixth form that an extra hour here or there was not the intense release that a free lesson amid a week of packed lessons would be. Having said that, I do remember that there were still nightmare lessons in sixth form that I was more than happy to see cancelled and spend an hour vegetating in the ironically named ‘Quiet Room’.


In University, then, the phenomenon is even stranger.


This morning I made a concerted effort to be awake at 7:00am (which for me was akin to dragging the rotting carcass of a loved house-pet up the Himalayas, difficult), I showered, had breakfast, listened to some music to come round fully and then I loaded my bag with the relevant materials that I would be using in today’s seminars. I was on the ball. Not only was I on the ball, I was rolling around on it like a seal and balancing another ball on my nose. Literally.


Imagine my relief then when upon reaching the room I discover that there is no lecture at all. I was over the moon, relief pouring out of every pore like burning pitch out of the crannies of Notre Dame, like in the film ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’ (I don’t know how Disney got away with that, rather a malevolent thing to show children, death by caustic tar). You would think that I was inundated with joy and goodwill.


Well you would be wrong, you assumption-filled bumpkin. I was righteously indignant! I had gone to the Herculean effort of GETTING UP (can you imagine?) and then I was left hanging by the underwhelming administrative skills of my lecturer.


Maybe I am a crazy subversive maniac crazyperson but I think that the Blackboard system is there so that lecturers can alert us of these cancellations in advance, so that I don’t have to wake up early in the morning, when it is really cold and dreary, when I really don’t have to.


The fact that lecturers aren’t running today and I didn’t know about it has nothing to do with the ‘fact’ that I have missed a fortnight of University and the course has probably just ended rather than this being a one-off cancellation, these things have no bearing on the situation!


I am also indignant on behalf of other people who had to catch peak-time public transport in order to arrive on-time for a non-existent lecture. For shame! That is three whole British pounds that at least one poor student won’t see again. That is real human money that is! The loss of that £3 won’t be easy to bounce back from in the current economic climate. You could buy a lot with £3. You could buy six bottles of water that cost 50p each. Three hundred penny sweets. Thirty thousand sweets that individually cost a hundredth of a penny. I’m not even sure if my mathematical workings there are correct. Please do get in touch and call me a tool if they aren’t.


So in a matter of around five years a simple thing such as a free lesson can utterly change its stripes and transform from a heart giving love hour into a bile filled grilling on the nature of making me get up early.


After writing this however I am uncertain whether this is an analysis of free lessons or whether it is really an admission of how I have transformed from a little tyke into a grumpy old git.


It’s the free lesson one.


In the words of Richard Herring:


“I am still proud of what I have done”.


Richard Herring gig tonight, I am looking forward to it.

Twuh-tuttin, Sir Terence, Norwegian Wood and Good Things That Are Hiding in 2009

On this, the last day of the year (if you follow the calendar of Gregor), I have very little energy to disseminate herein.

I have spent the post-primary-gifting-period slowly working my way through a batch of stand-up, books and music from before I was born.

I have been enjoying the works of TV's Richard Herring, namely 'That Was Then, This Is Now', and waiting for my other Richard Herring based purchases to arrive.  I have been informed this will take several weeks however, due to glue-based mishaps in the production of DVDs.  This is not a huge problem however, as when it is necessary I can muster the patience of a thing which is significantly more patient than I am when I am my usual, unaltered state of patience.

**I have backtracked up this blog because I have just received the post, which included Richard Herring's 'Bye Bye Balham', Stewart Lee's '90's Comedian', 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' (Oscar Wilde), 'The Great Gatsby' (F Scott Fitzgerald) and 'The Heart of Darkness' (Joseph Conrad).  It seems then that I have ended 2008 as a spendthrift, and I will look to temper this in the coming year.**

Randomly clicking through the webbosphere sometimes offers up little nuggets of joyous information which are truly outstanding to experience.  One such nugget is this coverage of the new year honours list.  Usually I tend to find that Britain's new Knights are previously unknown to me, and I was pleasantly surprised to find Terry Pratchett in the list (SIR Terence, if you please)(His name is Terence)(It is seriously, look it up).  Sir Terry is definitely the coolest Knight ever, and I certainly think more Knights should don a cowboy hat at every opportunity.  A man able to shrug off a disease as an 'embuggerance' sits very comfortably in my hall of heroes (the one off of the MediEvil game, yeah, the one with the talking statues and magical weapons and stuff, that's the one).

Another author who resides in my literary Valhalla (though he isn't dead - and neither is Terry Pratchett)(in retrospect, that was a bad analogy) is Haruki Murakami, who I discovered in the summer (that is to say his books.  I wasn't on an archaeological dig where authors past and present had been submerged in semi-caustic tar and where I then would have to dig them out using only newspaper folded into a cone.)(I would however, be tempted into such an occasion).

Having read 'Dance Dance Dance', which gripped me as a book due to the vibrant realism of it's characters and situation, which often melded seamlessly into surrealism, I was looking forward immensely to reading 'Norwegian Wood', and it didn't disappoint.  The surrealism which gripped me in 'Dance Dance Dance' is opted out of 'Norwegian Wood', Murakami paints the real world uncannily accurately in this novel, to my tastes at least.  I feel that he really has a knack for teasing the remarkable from the ordinary, and his narrative, which could easily pass for a real-life account, masterfully draws the profound from the mundane.

**Or maybe I'm just indulging my mancrush for the work of Haruki Murakami.  Certainly reading this book has influenced both my music and reading tastes, inasmuch as I have listened to the Beatles, and purchased 'The Great Gatsby' (for £2! Who knew you could buy anything for two pounds anymore? Apart from anyone who was at Woolworths in it's final moments).

Finally then I'd like to summarise a few things that I am looking forward to in 2009 that I am already aware of.  These things are largely comedy based, and some are quite solipsistic, so unless you are interested in a) Live stand-up Comedy in the Cardiff area or b) my life, then you may not really be interested in this concluding paragraph.  However, you are here now, so you may as well finish reading it.  Go on, you curmudgeonly sort.

Right, now that they're gone, I am looking forward to Stewart Lee in his new comedy vehicle, namely, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle (a title which is the product of some good sturdy linear thinking), Richard Herring's 'The Headmaster's Son' in Cardiff (if linking that here means there's no tickets for me I will be righteously miffed) and cheap shows again at the Glee.  From a far more personal angle then I am looking forward to the end of university (my tenure there, not the end of the idea of university), Canada (of going on holiday there, not just general glee at the thought of Canada) and also of scraping funds together in order to make 2009 the first year of my attending the Edinburgh Festival, which I hold as the Holy Grail of events.

That said, I hope that no matter what 2008 held for you, 2009 yields twice the delight.  Happy New Year.