Crap Comedy Chapter 26: Pig

Crap Comedy Chapter 26: Pig

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 fucking starving when Joanne and Fax finally emerge from the Hitler’s Fanny or whatever it’s called.

Joanne immediately starts. ‘Do you know how emba-’

‘DINNER. NOW.’ I reply.

‘And,’ I continue, as we make our way to the Royal Mile, ‘that was shit poetry. It didn’t even rhyme and it was mostly just her feeling her tits and yelling about knobs.’

‘Oh my god you’re such a philistine!’

‘I’m hungry is what I am. And pissed off. You promised we’d go for dinner first!’

‘Well we got held up! We had to align with Mars for the upcoming equinox!’

‘And you just had to do that at lunchtime, because of course you fucking did!’

And now it’s raining. Great. I’m standing in Scotland yelling at Joanne, in the rain. I can think of better holidays.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 26: Pig”

Crap Comedy Chapter 25: Pottery

Crap Comedy Chapter 25: Pottery

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.

Sadly, my genius plan to ‘go off with the bald guy I just met’ is thwarted by the reappearance of Joanne and Fax.

‘Come on, we’d better get in there, it’s starting in a minute.’

‘“Oh wait, I can’t. I’ve just remembered, I’ve been barred.’

‘What?!’

Her skirt starts whirling. How does she do that?

‘How the fuck did you manage to get barred? We were only gone a minute!’

I shrug. ‘Don’t look at me, I was just trying to talk about football with the barman.’

She peers at me. ‘That’s bollocks. You must have done something. You must have been offensive.’

‘Unless talking about Brian Clough is offensive, no I wasn’t.’

‘Who’s Brian Clough? Was he a slave trader or something?’

I look around for my bald friend, but he’s fucked off.

‘No, he’s a footballer. I think.’

She looks sceptical of my claim. ‘Well then, you must have done something, otherwise he wouldn’t have barred you. I know what you’re like.’

What?

‘What am I like?’ I’m getting sick of this. May I remind you that I still haven’t had any fucking dinner, and I haven’t even had any Hitler beer.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 25: Pottery”

Crap Comedy Chapters 23 & 24: Polish Sausage, Brian Clough

Crap Comedy Chapters 23 & 24: Polish Sausage, Brian Clough

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.

23. Polish Sausage

The front door is up a dozen steps because of course it fucking is. I can hear my vodka bottle clinking every time I drag my suitcase up one.

Joanne unlocks the door and we’re hit by the smell of… cooking? There’s no one here to be cooking anything. It must be coming from one of the other flats. Nope, the smell’s definitely getting stronger as I head towards the kitchen. Have we got burglars? Admittedly, I wouldn’t really care if we had; it’s not my stuff they’re stealing. Plus, burglars wouldn’t cook something that smells so nice. Or anything at all.

I push open the kitchen door, and my scream brings Joanne and Fax running. There is a naked man in our kitchen, hovering over a pan. He looks at me as if to say ‘what the hell’s your problem?’, then he shrugs and turns back to his pan.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ asks Joanne. I point to the buttocks in the kitchen.

‘That’s Stefan. I think he’s Polish,’ she says, like I’m expected to just know this.

‘Why didn’t you tell me there’d be someone else here!’

She shrugs. ‘You never asked.’

‘I never asked if there would be a naked man in our flat who you think is Polish. I fucking wonder why.’

I shut the door on our new flatmate and herd Joanne and Fax into the living room. Then I flop down onto the settee. It would have been the floor, but I got lucky.

They start looking round the room, Joanne sniffing the chairs and Fax jiggling the wire connecting the TV to the wall. Unsurprisingly, the TV goes off. Now I’ll never get to watch Loose Women, should I ever get brain damage and want to watch Loose Women.

‘Who is that man? Is he Polish or what?’

Joanne whirls round. ‘God, what are you, a racist?’

‘I just want to know how to say “put your cock away” in his language.’

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapters 23 & 24: Polish Sausage, Brian Clough”

Crap Comedy Chapter 22: Parking

Crap Comedy Chapter 22: Parking

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.

When I say Edinburgh is busy, I mean ‘it’s against the laws of physics to have so many people in one place’ busy. Seriously, I think multiple people are managing to occupy the exact same atoms on the pavement.

The first thing I notice as we drive through the city centre is a group of people waving their limbs. No one seems to notice or call an ambulance. When I point this out to Joanne, she goes ‘Oh, that’s a silent disco.’

‘It’s a what?’

‘You know, a silent disco!’ She looks at me like I’m slow. ‘Um, I think the general idea is that discos are a tool of oppression, because they make everyone conform and listen to the same music. This is a way of fighting that oppression.’

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 22: Parking”

Crap Comedy Chapter 21: Mob

Crap Comedy Chapter 21: Mob

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.

Hours pass without incident, mainly because I’m asleep. When I wake up again, Fax and Joanne are listening to BBC Radio Scotland.

‘I’m afraid we have a blockage on the A7 just going into Galashiels, as an event is taking place.’

‘There’s a bit of a hold up ladies, never mind’ says Fax.

An hour later, Fax has his forehead on the horn. Joanne is stabbing her phone with what looks like a pin.

She sees me looking. ‘I’m expelling the negative energies onto that man from the services.’

She’s stabbing a photo of Phil Mitchell. ‘That’s not him.’

‘Yes I know, God!’

‘Look, we should wake Fax up.’

‘No, he’s had such a spiritual trauma.’

‘Yes but he’s driving.’

‘But-’

‘-No.’

I shake Fax awake.

‘FAX YOU SHIT WAKE FUCKING UP’

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 21: Mob”

Crap Comedy Chapter 20: More Nuts

Crap Comedy Chapter 20: More Nuts

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 make my way out with my Meal Deal, and notice a small crowd has formed near the Postman Pat ride. Then I notice why a small crowd has formed near the Postman Pat ride.

‘WH SMITH IS A BASTARD!’

‘FREE PALESTINE!’

‘SMASH THE WH SMITH PATRIARCHY!’

‘YEAH!’

Oh my Christing hell. I was hoping my biggest problem this afternoon would be that my knickers keep going up my arse. I go stand at the back of the crowd, making every effort to look live I’ve never met these two before in my life, while at the same time getting a good look.

What the fuck have they done? Oh Jesus, all this over a bag of expensive nuts.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 20: More Nuts”

Crap Comedy Chapter 19: Nuts

Crap Comedy Chapter 19: Nuts

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 must have fallen asleep myself, because next thing I know we’re pulling into Knutsford services. I know this because Fax, despite his earlier aversion to speeding and subsequently ‘being oppressed’ by the police, has decided to drive the van over the speed bumps at 200mph.

‘YAAAY!’ screeches Joanne. I think something might have just actually gone up my arse.

Despite this, I’m very happy to be at the services. The services means coffee and a wee, and maybe a Ginsters sausage roll.

Fax has another sniff of his poppers. ‘Right, does everyone have some obsidian on their person?’

I don’t know why we need obsidian, but it’ll be some bollocks like ‘to cleanse the aura of the hand dryers.’ I’m not that convinced we’ll make it to Scotland alive.

‘Yes of course,’ I lie, and get the fuck out of the van in order to not be in the van for as long as possible.

‘I’m off to the loo, I’ll catch up with you in a minute.’

‘Yeah, so are we,’ says Joanne, and her and Fax both head towards the men’s toilets. I don’t bother shouting after her.

I sit on the loo for a long time after my wee, staring at an advert for Feminax on the back of the door. Maybe I’ll just live in this cubicle for the rest of my life. I can come out at night, when it’s quiet, and forage for food.

This plan is interrupted by Joanne yelling. ‘How dare you imply that my life partner and I are not a oneness!’

She got caught in the men’s loo didn’t she? I heave my carcass up and head out to see what’s going on. If they get chucked out of the services, I wouldn’t put it past them to forget about me and drive off in a fit of oppressed rage. Still, at least that would free me up to move into that cubicle.

Some poor guy with a mop is trying to point Joanne in the direction of the ladies’ loo, while Joanne yells and flails. People are looking. Fax is nowhere to be seen. Presumably he’s still having a piss.

‘Madam, the ladies’ facilities are right there…’

‘I hope you realise you’re propping up the patriarchy with your refusal to validate Earth Spirits! This is how Hitler got started!’

I’m pretty sure it’s not.

‘Fine, I’ll obey your divisive and hateful regime!’ and Joanne stomps off towards the loo. The guy stares after her, then shrugs and goes back to cleaning the men’s loo. A couple of seconds later, Fax reappears.

‘Where is M’Lady? I tried to defend her honour but I was still wee-weeing so I couldn’t. It would have gone on my sandals.’

‘It’s OK, she’s in there.’ I point to the ‘divisive’ and ‘patriarchal’ ladies’ loo. He goes and stands outside the door, attracting a few worried looks from old ladies. Right, let’s go buy all the food in the world.

Unfortunately, buying even 1% of the food in WH Smith would cost approximately three billion pounds. I settle for a Meal Deal for seven quid instead. And even that’s a fucking lot for an anorexic sandwich and some Hula Hoops. Oh well, services, what you gonna do.
Maybe I’ll buy something to read on the way. That might help to block out the pain. Weirdly, all the books seem to be hardback, expensive, and inappropriate. Oh Christ of course – WH Smith’s book section is mental. Last time I bought a book from Smith’s it was three autobiographies for a tenner for my cousin’s wedding. I know it was a shit wedding present, but I’d forgotten to get anything so I had to make do with what I could find at Nottingham train station. Plus, my cousin’s a bitch. I giggle out loud at the memory.

Right let’s have a look. No, I don’t really want Nigella’s 58 Ways with Lard or a road atlas. Magazine it is then. I could get one of those puzzle books, they’re always good for passing an hour, as long as you know words like ‘epee’ and ‘qi’. I choose the one with the free biro taped to it. On my way to the counter I notice a spinning rack full of ‘souvenirs’. If I wanted to, I could buy a fridge magnet with ‘Knutsford Services’ written on it. Thinking about it, I do want to. This might be because I’m still a bit pissed, but oh well.

There are also personalised glittery alice bands. Surprisingly, they don’t have ‘Fax’.

Speak of the devil. I can smell those poppers again. Before I turn round, there’s a huge dramatic gasp. Fax is gawping in horror at a shelf of mixed nuts. Joanne joins him and starts fondling his head again. How these two haven’t been kicked out for that toilet stunt is fucking beyond me.

‘What’s the matter my love?’

Joanne says this to Fax. I don’t say this to Fax. I do not love Fax.

‘These… these prices! They are stealing from the public to line their capitalist pockets!’

Joanne looks at the nuts. ‘Oh my god! Mel have you seen this?’

‘No, I must have missed it. What?’

‘These Nobby’s Nuts are £3.50!’

OK, that’s pretty steep. But what do they expect at a services?

Fax grabs a bag of nuts and marches angrily towards the bemused looking woman behind the counter. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

She stares at him. ‘Sorry?’

‘What is the meaning of this capitalism and oppression of the poor downtrodden… poor?’

‘Erm, I don’t know love. Do you want to buy them, or…?’

He goes to slam the nuts down on the counter, but misses and ends up chucking the bag on the floor. He picks the bag up and goes on with his manifesto. ‘How can you prop up such a fascist, capitalist dictatorship?’

Did Fax just call Knutsford services a dictatorship? At least I’m stood a bit away from them, so the woman doesn’t know I’m with them.

He spins round. ‘Melissa, how much of your money are you being forced to hand over for your food?’

Oh for fuck’s sake. ‘I’m not getting involved in this. Anyway it’s not her fault, she just works here.’

‘I bet it’s 50 pounds isn’t it?’

‘No.’

Please just let me pay for my Meal Deal so we can get back in the van and then hopefully be involved in a pile-up.

‘Sir, if you don’t want to purchase anything would you mind letting me serve other people?’

‘Right!’ yells Fax. ‘I’m not going to be oppressed by Moto Services! This is an extortion, and I am going to stand up for the masses! GANDHI!’ He storms out.

‘Yeah!’ says Joanne, and storms out after him.

She looks at me as I go to pay for my Meal Deal. The fucking prawn sandwich is warm now. ‘Are you with those two?’

‘Oh god I’m so sorry’ I mutter. My cheeks are burning with the shame of having to be in the same sentence as Joanne and Fax. ‘They…’ I stop because my brain can’t come up with a suitable excuse. They’re what? Socially conscious? Actors? Escaped mental patients? ‘They’re a pair of dickheads,’ I finally manage. ‘Please don’t think this has anything to do with you, I’m sure you do a great job.’

We keep chatting for a bit since there’s no one else in the shop, and I’m in no real rush to go find Gandhi and Mrs Gandhi. We just talk about the weather (‘It’s a bit too muggy for me’) and our holiday destination (‘Ooh the festival! Lovely!’) I think the Edinburgh thing mollifies her a bit; no doubt she’s now imagining Joanne and Fax as a fair of genius performance artists, when in reality they’re just twats.

Crap Comedy Chapters 17 & 18: On The Road, Hardened Criminal

Crap Comedy Chapters 17 & 18: On The Road, Hardened Criminal

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.

17. On The Road

This van goes approximately one mile a week. Every other second I get bummed by the suspension.

My mind goes back to that godawful minibus Joanne got us on to go to the ‘Smouldering Woman’ festival. That bus constantly smelled of B.O. and lavender. I wouldn’t have minded the BO until that bitch sat behind us decided she was ‘triggered’ by my drinking a Gordon’s miniature.

‘Right, so a thousand fetid lesbian armpits don’t trigger you, but me opening a small gin to take away the pain is unacceptable.’

That’s what I should have said. Anyway. That’s behind me now, I won’t think about that any more, and will instead focus on ‘can Andi Peters find me here?’

Oh for fuck’s sake, I have to move. My arse won’t take this.

‘Sorry’ yells Joanne from the front. ‘Are the cushions not aligned?’

‘Do we have cushions? That would help, where are they?’

She looks round. ‘Oh, are they not there? We might have not brought them then.’

Well, that’s outstanding. I guess I’ll sit on my bastard suitcase then. Ow, maybe not the bit with the rolling pin in it.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapters 17 & 18: On The Road, Hardened Criminal”

Crap Comedy Chapter 16: Holiday, Celebrate

Crap Comedy Chapter 16: Holiday, Celebrate

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 fuck, I’m supposed to be going to Scotland today, I haven’t got time to have a poo. Come on get up, you don’t want Andi Peters and his hard men beating down your door. Best go to Scotland, where at least Andi Peters can’t find you.

You’re right brain, I’ll figure out what to do about that when I get back.

Right, what do I need for a week at the Edinburgh Festival? I wish I’d bought a can of mace. Never mind – knickers, lots of knickers. And a loaf of bread, in case they don’t sell bread in Scotland. Apparently it’s always cold up there, so I pack the insulated ‘golfing mitts’ my dad inexplicably bought me one Christmas. I’ve forgotten to do the washing, so I run downstairs and stuff whatever fetid self-aware abominations I can find into my suitcase.

I’m just hunting for my good bra when I hear a car coming up the road.

Parp parp HONK BOOM parp BANG parp parp BANG BANG BANG

That’s got to be a comedy car. I’ll look out of the window and several dozen clowns will pile out of it. Only I won’t look out of the window because I’m too lazy , and anyway, deep down I know it’ll be whatever nonsense transport they’ve turned up with.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 16: Holiday, Celebrate”

Crap Comedy Chapter 15: Marketing

Crap Comedy Chapter 15: Marketing

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 sitting in the Co-op, trying to decide if I should bother getting an umbrella. I don’t own one, and I have no idea if they sell them in Scotland. They might all just not care about rain up there.

This is the least I’ve ever looked forward to a holiday, and I’m even including that bloody festival of lavender and BO in that. At least then I sort of wanted to get away for a week; here I have no choice because the police, the FBI and Andi Peters are all after me. This is somehow Joanne’s fault, it always is. And even though it’s nothing of the sort, that’s not going to stop me angrily eating this crunchie that I must remember to pay for later, if I remember.

The plan that I’m vaguely forming in my head is to get to Edinburgh, find out what kind of flea-bitten hovel we’re staying in, and stay there for the next seven days, eating crisps and playing freecell on my phone. That’s my kind of holiday. I have no interest in bagpipes, interpretive dance, or poems about how vowels are fucking racist.

Continue reading “Crap Comedy Chapter 15: Marketing”