Crap Comedy Chapter 13: Andi Peters, Part 2

Crap Comedy Chapter 13: Andi Peters, Part 2

On the run from Andi Peters following a misunderstanding about cruises, Melissa begrudgingly agrees to follow her friend Joanne (and Joanne’s 17th century throwback ‘life partner’ Fax) to the Edinburgh Fringe. While leafleting for Fax’s dreadful stand up show about faith healing and vegans, Melissa endures the highs and lows of pretentious student plays, ‘street typing’, and the knowledge that her shop has been left in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand tills…

Crap Comedy is the follow up to the 2018 novel Crap Holiday. Read it here.

I’m woken up by a knock at the door. I immediately panic. No one ever knocks at my door. Oh god it’s the police. Oh god oh god. They’ve come to arrest me for some fucking thing or another.

After summoning all my courage and putting a top on, I manage to look through the peephole.

It’s Tony from downstairs. Fucking hell. At least he can’t arrest me, I don’t think.

‘Oh hello, this came for you, it was too big for the letterbox so they left it on top.’

I take the envelope. ‘Ta.’ I give a half-hearted smile so he doesn’t think I’m a serial killer.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 13: Andi Peters, Part 2”

Crap Comedy Chapter 12: Laughing

Crap Comedy Chapter 12: Laughing

On the run from Andi Peters following a misunderstanding about cruises, Melissa begrudgingly agrees to follow her friend Joanne (and Joanne’s 17th century throwback ‘life partner’ Fax) to the Edinburgh Fringe. While leafleting for Fax’s dreadful stand up show about faith healing and vegans, Melissa endures the highs and lows of pretentious student plays, ‘street typing’, and the knowledge that her shop has been left in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand tills…

Crap Comedy is the follow up to the 2018 novel Crap Holiday. Read it here.

‘Hi hi hi heyloooooo! Welcome to the most outrageous comedy night you’ll go to tonight! Ha ha ha!’

The compere is yelling this, I’m not sure why. Maybe he thinks that’s more fun. I glance at the poster next to the ‘stage’ (pile of pallets), and learn that the compere’s name is ‘Tommy Trouble’.

Upon hearing Tommy Trouble’s opening line, I down one of my three double gins. These are not going to last me the night.

‘You sir, what do you do for a living?’ he yells at a poor bastard in the audience.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 12: Laughing”

Crap Comedy Chapter 11: Charlie Chalk

Crap Comedy Chapter 11: Charlie Chalk

On the run from Andi Peters following a misunderstanding about cruises, Melissa begrudgingly agrees to follow her friend Joanne (and Joanne’s 17th century throwback ‘life partner’ Fax) to the Edinburgh Fringe. While leafleting for Fax’s dreadful stand up show about faith healing and vegans, Melissa endures the highs and lows of pretentious student plays, ‘street typing’, and the knowledge that her shop has been left in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand tills…

Crap Comedy is the follow up to the 2018 novel Crap Holiday. Read it here.

Before she left the Co-op (she didn’t even pin a leaflet to the bastard notice board in the end), Joanne ordered me to attend Fax’s ‘Edinburgh preview show’. Why I’ve agreed to do this is not really clear, except that I’m a bit bored. Also I think the place does food, and I haven’t got anything in.

I know Fax’s stand up is going to be awful. I know this because I’ve met Fax. I’ve also seen Fax do karaoke, mangling Robert Palmer with his own made-up lyrics about being vegan. I know that as soon as he starts his routine, I’m going to cringe all of my organs out of my bumhole.

It’ll be OK though, it’s not Fax all night, it’s an ‘open-mic variety night’, at some pub called The Pilgrim. With any luck, it’ll be like The Gong Show, and Fax will get harassed off stage within 10 seconds. Thinking about it, maybe that wouldn’t be such a great idea. Fax would almost certainly start crying, and then Joanne would get up and start calling the audience ‘flaming cunts’, and then there might be a fight.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 11: Charlie Chalk”

Crap Comedy Chapter 10: Business Casual

Crap Comedy Chapter 10: Business Casual

On the run from Andi Peters following a misunderstanding about cruises, Melissa begrudgingly agrees to follow her friend Joanne (and Joanne’s 17th century throwback ‘life partner’ Fax) to the Edinburgh Fringe. While leafleting for Fax’s dreadful stand up show about faith healing and vegans, Melissa endures the highs and lows of pretentious student plays, ‘street typing’, and the knowledge that her shop has been left in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand tills…

Crap Comedy is the follow up to the 2018 novel Crap Holiday. Read it here.

Where the fuck is Saif? He was supposed to be here half an hour ago. I try to summon enough enthusiasm to wonder if he’d dead. I don’t think anyone would be able to murder Saif without first agreeing to do ‘forex’.

I was planning to put him on the till today, so I can hover around and intervene if he starts trying to do ‘upselling’ or any other of his Alan Sugar crap.

My phone pings. ‘I CAN’T COME IN’

Fucking what? Oh for fuck’s sake.

My phone pings again. ‘I’VE LOST MY TROUSERS’

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 10: Business Casual”

Crap Comedy Chapters 7 – 9: Hygge, Sunday, Sunday Part 2

Crap Comedy Chapters 7 – 9: Hygge, Sunday, Sunday Part 2

On the run from Andi Peters following a misunderstanding about cruises, Melissa begrudgingly agrees to follow her friend Joanne (and Joanne’s 17th century throwback ‘life partner’ Fax) to the Edinburgh Fringe. While leafleting for Fax’s dreadful stand up show about faith healing and vegans, Melissa endures the highs and lows of pretentious student plays, ‘street typing’, and the knowledge that her shop has been left in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand tills…

Crap Comedy is the follow up to the 2018 novel Crap Holiday. Read it here.

7: Hygge

All the used knickers have been picked up off the floor, so I celebrate with another glass of wine. Next item on my list – put them in the washing machine.

The washing machine contains the clothes I forgot to dry last week. Shitting fucking hell, why does nothing ever go right for me? I’m so tempted to just give up and eat Hula Hoops all day. This is Joanne’s fault, with her stupid Edinburgh bollocks and then going missing but not really.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapters 7 – 9: Hygge, Sunday, Sunday Part 2”

Crap Comedy Chapter 6: Scrubber

Crap Comedy Chapter 6: Scrubber

On the run from Andi Peters following a misunderstanding about cruises, Melissa begrudgingly agrees to follow her friend Joanne (and Joanne’s 17th century throwback ‘life partner’ Fax) to the Edinburgh Fringe. While leafleting for Fax’s dreadful stand up show about faith healing and vegans, Melissa endures the highs and lows of pretentious student plays, ‘street typing’, and the knowledge that her shop has been left in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand tills…

Crap Comedy is the follow up to the 2018 novel Crap Holiday. Read it here.

I am absolutely going to clean my whole flat. I’m determined. I’ve managed to get myself the weekend off without feeling too guilty by promising Kay that Saif is not mental, and is great to work with. I’m hoping that when I go back on Monday, she’s somehow not seen through my brilliant ruse.

Yesterday he wouldn’t let this poor woman buy cigarettes.

‘Sorry we’ve only got that one packet.’

She looked a bit confused, as you would. ‘OK I’ll have those then.’

Saif shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s the display packet, and if I sell these we won’t have any of them, so how will people know to buy them?’

I managed to stop the woman murdering Saif by shooing him away to check the dates on the milk.

‘I’m sorry, he’s got a syndrome,’ I whispered to the woman. It was all I could think of.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 6: Scrubber”

Crap Comedy Chapter 5: Forex

Crap Comedy Chapter 5: Forex

On the run from Andi Peters following a misunderstanding about cruises, Melissa begrudgingly agrees to follow her friend Joanne (and Joanne’s 17th century throwback ‘life partner’ Fax) to the Edinburgh Fringe. While leafleting for Fax’s dreadful stand up show about faith healing and vegans, Melissa endures the highs and lows of pretentious student plays, ‘street typing’, and the knowledge that her shop has been left in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand tills…

Crap Comedy is the follow up to the 2018 novel Crap Holiday. Read it here.

Oh god I’m so hungover. Fax’s plum gin wine is actually pretty good if you have a dozen glasses of it.

He tried to do some of his stand-up comedy at me before I left last night. Something about rowan trees ‘always leading to intercourse with ladies.’ I’m not sure I’m his target audience. Joanne was in hysterics of course, but that might have been because she was stoned off her tits. I keep trying, and failing, to imagine Fax doing his comedy at a load of Scottish people.

I don’t know why they’re always trying to include me in their mad plans. I think they feel sorry for me. What they don’t realise is that usually my problems are caused by being involved in their mad plans.

Saif arrives just as I’m swallowing some sick.

‘Do you want to come to a Forex seminar with me?’

Oh fuck not this again.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 5: Forex”

Crap Comedy Chapter 4: Quetzalcoatl

Crap Comedy Chapter 4: Quetzalcoatl

On the run from Andi Peters following a misunderstanding about cruises, Melissa begrudgingly agrees to follow her friend Joanne (and Joanne’s 17th century throwback ‘life partner’ Fax) to the Edinburgh Fringe. While leafleting for Fax’s dreadful stand up show about faith healing and vegans, Melissa endures the highs and lows of pretentious student plays, ‘street typing’, and the knowledge that her shop has been left in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand tills…

Crap Comedy is the follow up to the 2018 novel Crap Holiday. Read it here.

An hour later I’ve managed to keep the following down:

  • one kale and facon savoury orb (hand rolled)
  • a packet of super noodles, only made strange by the inclusion of a lot of parsley
  • six glasses of Fax’s wine gin

I consider this an achievement, and am feeling more chipper. Joanne has rolled a joint and we’re all playing I Spy. I’m at a considerable disadvantage, since half the stuff they think of is bullshit and doesn’t exist. Oh well.

After I fail to guess ‘Bamileke log drum’, which I’m pretty sure they don’t even own so this has turned into a game of ‘guess what I’m thinking’, I remember that Joanne said she had a surprise for me.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 4: Quetzalcoatl”

Crap Comedy Chapter 3: Frigg

Crap Comedy Chapter 3: Frigg

On the run from Andi Peters following a misunderstanding about cruises, Melissa begrudgingly agrees to follow her friend Joanne (and Joanne’s 17th century throwback ‘life partner’ Fax) to the Edinburgh Fringe. While leafleting for Fax’s dreadful stand up show about faith healing and vegans, Melissa endures the highs and lows of pretentious student plays, ‘street typing’, and the knowledge that her shop has been left in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand tills…

Crap Comedy is the follow up to the 2018 novel Crap Holiday. Read it here.

3: Frigg

Somehow I’ve managed to get to Friday without cancelling Joanne’s dinner or killing myself. As I approach my old house, I’m surprised to see they haven’t painted runes all over it or some other nonsense. The numbers are still missing off the front door. I never did figure out why someone would steal the numbers off our house.

Fax answers the door. To my horror he’s wearing one of those aprons designed to look like he’s a naked woman. All this does is remind me that I once saw his knob when he was having a nudist phase, and now I don’t know how I’m going to manage to eat anything, even if they’ve made anything edible.

“Namaste!”

“Yes hello.”

“I’ve made whores de vurs!”

Jesus, I’m not even through the door and already I’m having to stop myself laughing. I clutch the YoNanas in front of my face (I didn’t want to turn up empty handed) and follow Fax into the living room.

The living room is still painted in Dulux ‘Highlighter Pen Holocaust’. In fact, it looks much the same as I remember it, except…

“Fax, where’s the settee gone? Did you move it?”

Joanne comes prancing out of the kitchen. “We got rid of the settee because it was giving Fax spiritual migraines. Don’t worry, we’ve replaced it – look!”

Bean bags. They’ve replaced the entire settee with bean bags.

“Don’t worry, they’re vegan beans.”

“Oh good, I was worried.”

I try to remember last time I attempted to sit on a bean bag. I think I was about 10. It belonged to my friend and it was a giant cheeseburger. Didn’t end well.

Joanne comes over and hugs me, oblivious to the fact that I am clutching a YoNanas.

For once Joanne smells nice instead of like weed and patchouli.

“I like your perfume.”

“Oh thanks, my dealer does Avon as well, and he got me this. It’s called ‘Rowan Musk’.”

Of course it fucking is. I’m still holding the YoNanas.

“This is for you.”

She takes the box. “Oh mega! I’ve always wanted one of these!”

I’m trying to decide if she actually knows what it is.

“Fax! It’s the banana ice cream thing!”

Oh right. Well… good?

“But I thought you couldn’t get these in real life! I thought they were just on TV! How did you manage to get one?”

In lieu of telling her about the QVC/Andi Peters saga, and subsequently having to explain the existence of shopping channels to her, I just say “I know a man.” It’s technically not a lie – Andi Peters is a man, and I’ve seen him on TV so I sort of know him. Although I’m not sure he has much to do with YoNanas.

I’m ordered to sit/squat on a bean bag of my choice, while Joanne fucks around with the YoNanas. Fax hands me a glass of… something. I sniff it.

“You must give your honest opinion of the beverage Melissa, it’s infused with my own energy. And plums.”

Joanne looks up from the YoNanas. “Isn’t he clever? He’s been making his own wine!”

Fax beams. “I squashed the plums with my own two hands, while singing ‘Sumer is icumen in’, which is a traditional song from Wessex. Then I meditated on it for three days. And then I added some gin to it so it would be alcoholic.”

That’s not wine, that’s plums and gin. Could be worse. I take a sip – it tastes of plums and gin.

“Mmmm, it’s lovely, thank you.”

Joanne disappears into the kitchen; Fax picks up his acoustic guitar and sits on a bean bag opposite me. This is a bad sign. I think it means he’s going to sing ‘Sumer is icumen in’ at me. I steel myself.

“Ooohhhhhhhh… the bullock is prancing, the billy-goat farting…”

What.

“Loudly sing, cuckoo! The seed is growing…”

I down my gin, which doesn’t seem to have been enhanced by Fax singing about farting goats.

When I first met Fax, I realised I’d need a foolproof method of stopping myself laughing in his face until I died. Thinking about my life generally does the trick. I employ this tactic now, to great effect.

Fax finishes his performance just as I’m getting to ‘I wonder if I’ll ever have sex again’. I applaud enthusiastically, as this is the best way to make him pour me another ‘plum wine’. Suddenly I’m aware of a familiar smell that I can’t quite place. It smells kind of… burnt, like burnt grass. I’ve definitely smelled it before. What is it?

Right on cue, Joanne comes back into the living room. She is now wearing the naked man equivalent of Fax’s apron. I don’t know where to put my eyes.

“Dinner won’t be long!”

The penny drops. I know what that smell is. I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.

“… What are we having?”

“I’ve made my speciality,” says Fax. “Hand rolled kale and facon savoury orbs!”

“With chicken super noodles” adds Joanne.

If there’s such a thing as a ‘disappointment hernia’, I’ve just got one.

Hang on, chicken super noodles? Aren’t these two super vegans? I decide not to question it, because I do quite like super noodles.

Joanne sits on the bean bag next to Fax, and they begin a mysterious game of I Spy. I can’t see anything in the room that begins with ‘Q’, so I assume it’s one of their bits of made up hippy crap. I try desperately to think of a way to get rid of my dinner without putting it anywhere near my mouth. I wonder if they’d believe me if I claimed it clashed with my food chakra.

I don’t mind super noodles, but I don’t trust Joanne. I’ve seen her attempting to make food. She once tried to cook spaghetti in the toaster.

“Ha ha OK I give up, what is it?”

“It was Qadshu, the Syrian goddess of fertility!”

Of course it fucking was. Where is she, behind the TV?

I hope Fax has made a lot of his rubbish plum gin wine.