‘Fine! At least make me a cup of tea,’ she said without looking at me. A cup of tea! The perfect middle ground between fetching her a takeaway and not doing anything for her at all. I went into the kitchen, made two teas (obviously paranoid that while I’m in the kitchen she’s passing the TV out of the window to the rest of the Hen Do, saying ‘There you go, you haven’t kissed anything beginning with “T” yet’) and when I came back into the living room, she had raided the board game shelf of the flat, had found, and had already set up, Twister. (Strictly not a board game, I know, but I’ve been to Kettering Board Games Club and there weren’t any boards there either so I think Twister still qualifies. Also Twister would be the worst game to bring with you to Kettering Board Games Club. I can’t imagine what they would make of it or if anyone would join in and play with you due to the overwhelming amount of physical contact involved.)
She pointed at the Twister mat and quite angrily said, ‘We’re playing this!’
I was still holding the teas. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked.
‘It’s sexy,’ she snapped back.
So I set the teas down and we played Twister, just the two of us, with her spinning the spinner and playing at the same time (credit where it’s due, that’s impressive). I don’t know if you’ve ever played two player Twister but it drags on. We were nowhere near each other for the entire game, because all the spinner ever landed on was feet so we were essentially just walking around a Twister mat, occasionally having a swig of tea because we could, and she was getting increasingly frustrated that the game was not as sexy as she’d thought it would be. After half an hour she gave up, threw the spinner on the floor and sat down, declaring that Twister was a stupid game for stupid idiots. Then we had an argument.
The argument started with her making a statement: ‘Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus.’ I nodded as I was familiar with that term and then she said, deadly serious. ‘No. Literally though.’ And, like a moron, I took the bait.
‘Well, not literally.’
‘Yes literally, that’s what I believe, what do you believe then?’
‘Both from Earth,’ I said.
Both from Earth! That’s what I once said to someone during a disagreement – both from Earth! Where are you from, James? Why, I’m from Earth, of course, a man from Earth. This argument went on for longer than I care to remember, and at one point she said, ‘Well what about the creation story in the Bible, do you believe in that?’
‘No,’ I replied.
‘Well, I do,’ she shot back.
‘But you said we were from different planets!’
‘I’m allowed to contradict myself!’
‘I’m allowed to contradict myself’ remains the best line I’ve ever heard used in an argument because once you’ve decided that you are allowed to contradict yourself and that you no longer care for the rules of debate then the other person is left utterly helpless, which I was. I was about to tap out when she ended the argument with the line, ‘Oh just shut up and run me a bath.’ And so I did.
I ran her a bubble bath immediately. I then sat upstairs and reflected on the evening so far. It had not gone well. She had demanded I went out and got her a takeaway, we had played a game of Twister that had somehow ended in a draw, I had defended the fact that human beings were from Earth and she was now in a bubble bath that she had told me to shut up and run for her. But in a typical male way I was also thinking, ‘There’s still a chance . . .’
She then walked into the room (not naked, you pervs) and unexpectedly kissed me. I know it sounds ridiculous but it’s like she’d changed once more into a different person and no longer hated me or thought that I worked for her and I clearly was so desperate to kiss someone that I wasn’t going to say no. There is no way of saying this next bit without sounding like Alan Partridge but . . . she then raised the question of protection.
I had nothing on me because I had never been in this situation before so wasn’t used to leaving the house prepared. She told me that she had seen a twenty-four hour shop across the street that would surely sell what we needed and that I should go there and come back. I agreed in a heartbeat. If the Chinese takeaway order had been a ruse to get to me to leave the flat so she could rob it, I certainly didn’t care now. I was clearly happy to risk the entire bounty of the comedian’s flat at the faintest possibility of sex. However, when I got to the shop I learnt that it was not twenty-four hours and it was closed. I didn’t want to return empty-handed for fear of another argument and also for fear of not sleeping with her. I saw a nightclub in the distance that was clearly open so I decided to go inside and see if they had one of those machines in the toilets.
This nightclub turned out to be very popular and I had to queue up for twenty minutes outside in the cold, only to be turned away at the door because by the time I got to the front of the queue it was closing time. I looked around and saw another nightclub in the distance so I walked there and tried the exact same plan only to achieve the exact same result – queued for twenty minutes, turned away at the door. I had now been out of the flat for forty minutes, maybe fifty. If she was going to case the joint it was done by now; if she was going to have sex with me that was probably done by now too. I had to admit defeat and go home. As I was walking away from the nightclub I began to accidentally walk in tandem with another guy. I don’t know why I did this and, even though it worked out well, I will never do it again because it is creepy and borderline insane, but I asked this stranger if he could give me a condom (!!!) and he, against all the odds, handed me an entire pack. It felt kind of gross but at least I had achieved what she had sent me out for. Although technically what she had sent me out for wasn’t another man’s condoms.
I said thank you to my Good Samaritan but quickly realised my troubles were far from over. I had walked so far from the flat that I now had no idea where I was. I did not own a smart-phone at the time so couldn’t access maps. I was simply lost. I finally get myself into a position where I’m getting accommodation provided for me after gigs and it’s looking like I’m going to end up sleeping in a bush again. I didn’t even have a red dress on me this time; I would have to stretch a full pack of condoms over my arms, heads and legs to provide me with any insulation. How had I allowed this to happen?
I took a guess and walked in what I thought was the general direction of the flat, quickly lost faith after ten minutes and so made my way down a different road that just ‘felt right’. At this point I had been out of the flat for an hour and I was in a right tizz. That tizz only got worse when I heard the rushing of feet gradually getting louder behind me. I looked up to find myself surrounded by about fourteen teenagers. There was a pause as I waited to get mugged, desperately scanning their faces in case Alistair and the boys had finally tracked me down and I was about to get my just desserts. Just when I thought the kicking was about to commence they all started jumping up and down, clapping their hands and singing a song. The song went: ‘Olly Bongo, Olly-Olly Bongo, Olly Bongo, Olly-Olly Bongo’ over and over again forever. This was one of the most surreal moments of my life. I still don’t know why it happened. All I know is it wasn’t what I hoped I would be doing by that point in the evening. Eventually they stopped singing and then ran off into the night, I assume to sing the ‘Olly Bongo’ song at some other bewildered boy who’d been out begging strangers for contraceptives.
I didn’t realise it at the time but having those boys sing the ‘Olly Bongo’ song at me was actually as nice as my evening was going to get. There’s no nice end to this story. The truth is I returned back to the flat, she told me she wasn’t in the mood any more (there’s not a person on the earth who would be in the mood any more, let’s face it) and so I went to sleep and was awoken a couple of hours later by her leaving. When I asked her why she told me not to be such a baby.
But let’s look at the positives. She didn’t rob the flat, I got a lovely song sang to me by a late-night flash mob, and after a quick online search I’m proud to sa
y that I was right – women and men are both from Earth.
I’d like to say I learned my lesson but there was another occasion where I went back to somebody’s place with them and the next morning as I was leaving her flat I was unexpectedly chased down the street by a white Highland terrier wearing a pink T-shirt that said ‘I Heart Bones’ on it. All in all, I am glad to not be in my twenties any more.
Mr Eko
Doing all of these disaster gigs while working at the school was exhausting but I only had to do it for nine months. One day when walking back to the tube from work (probably carrying a hedge trimmer that I intended to drop from a twelfth storey window before returning it to Patrick the following morning) I received a phone call from one of my favourite comedians (and one of the reasons I became a comedian) Josie Long, asking me to be her tour support that autumn. Being her tour support meant that I would have to quit my job at the school because I would essentially be on the road for four months. This was great news. Even if I ended up having to return to the day job once the tour was over I was still incredibly grateful for any respite whatsoever. I said yes without hesitation.
The tour began in September and I was one of two support acts. The other was Johnny Lynch, an incredible musician who releases music under the name The Pictish Trail. The tour started in the Scottish Highlands and I remember driving over the hills, looking down at rivers and realising that it was one o’clock in the afternoon and I’d usually be working in a classroom by now, and it made me feel free and fortunate. (I know some of you are thinking, ‘Woah should you really be the one driving given your track record?’ But relax, I’m hardly going to mar this amazing experience by having my third major car crash, guys!)
The tour ended in Nottingham and I was very happy because my sister and brother-in-law were going to come to the show. I had arranged to meet them for a drink before the show started but I wouldn’t be eating food because Josie, Johnny and I had decided to go and get some Italian food together when I got back. Ruth and David (my sister and brother-in-law’s names) were waiting for me in Chiquito’s (the name of the restaurant we were having drinks in). We sat at the bar and had drinks and caught up with each other for about an hour before my sister spotted Mr Eko sitting on his own at a table.
Mr Eko was a character in the popular television series Lost. All three of us were fans of Lost and probably even bigger fans of Mr Eko. He was a Ugandan drug lord turned preacher who was sitting in the tail section of the plane when it crashed and did loads of spiritual stuff on the island as well as beating people up. And Ruth was right: Mr Eko was sat at a table alone, waiting for his order and drumming on the table top. I never approach people I’m a fan of for fear of annoying them but I loved his character in Lost so much that I just had to say something. So I walked right up to Mr Eko and said, ‘Hello, mate, just wanted to say you’re amazing in Lost.’
He smiled and said, ‘Aw thanks, that really means a lot,’ shook my hand, and I returned to the bar. It had been a success; I had met a hero and not come across like a weirdo. I was happy.
After the drinks I returned to the venue to meet up with Johnny and Josie. I was hungry and it was dinner time. ‘We’re going to Chiquito’s,’ said Josie.
I froze. ‘Ummm . . . I can’t go to Chiquito’s.’
‘Yes you can,’ said Josie, looking puzzled.
‘No. No, we can’t go to Chiquito’s, I’ve just gone up to a man and told him I love him and then left, I can’t return five minutes later with more people, he’ll think something’s going on.’ I tried explaining the situation to Josie and Johnny more coherently but they didn’t see the problem (which is totally fair enough) so in the end we reached a compromise. I agreed to eat at Chiquito’s providing Josie lent me her hoody and Johnny lent me his bobble hat thus providing me with the perfect disguise. Genius.
And so we arrived at Chiquito’s and waited to be seated. I was now disguised as the coldest person in the world, wearing a hoodie with the hood up, bobble hat on top of the hood, and blending in with the Mexican decor very nicely. Mr Eko was still sitting at the same table, checking his phone.
‘There’s one table free at the moment,’ said the waiter and of course pointed straight at the table right next to Mr Eko.
‘No we can’t sit there,’ I whispered to Josie, ‘Mr Eko is literally on the table beside us.’ This was not a good enough reason to not sit at the table for reasons I don’t have to explain to you because you are a reasonable person who knows that that is not a good enough reason for anything ever.
I sat with my back to Mr Eko as we waited for our food and refused to remove my hoodie or bobble hat. My chimichanga arrived but before I could start eating, Mr Eko got up to leave. I know that Mr Eko got up to leave because in order to get out he had to squeeze past me and asked me to move my chair so that he could get past. I was so startled that I pulled my chair forwards too quickly, sharply knocking into my table which caused my fork to fall on the ground. And then Mr Eko and myself both bent down to pick up the fork at the same time, and whilst under the table our eyes met. I froze in fear; he did a double take, recognised me and a look of concern swept over his face as he asked himself why this man had gone away and then come back wearing a disguise and sat on the adjacent table to him. In a way it’s rather fitting that someone from the TV series Lost should suddenly find themselves with so many questions but zero answers. Now they know how we felt.
When I saw his eyes widen I realised that what I’d done was so much worse than if I’d simply returned to the restaurant dressed in the same clothes as earlier and had a meal without bothering him. This looked suspicious. This looked like I actually had something sinister planned. I had gone to the trouble of disguising myself, concealing my identity from him. Whatever I was about to do next would most certainly be illegal and probably unwelcome. He thrust the handle of the fork into my hand and left hastily, looking over his shoulder at me as he did so.
And then I ate a chimichanga while wearing a bobble hat.
But even though the Mr Eko situation hadn’t panned out as I’d hoped I was fairly relaxed about it, mainly because it was, by an awfully huge margin, not the worst thing that had happened to me during the tour.
Déjà vu, Déjà vu
It was about a month before Mr Eko-gate and we had just started the Welsh leg of the tour. We’d done Swansea the previous night and in the morning we drove to Brecon to meet some friends for lunch before setting off to Machynlleth for our next show. The drive from Brecon to Machynlleth was going to be a scenic one, winding through Welsh hillside and through areas of woodland. The promoter had met up with us in Brecon and he was leading the way in his car with us following him in ours. We stopped at a big Tesco early on and I bought CeeLo Green’s album The Lady Killer for £4.99 just so we could listen to the song ‘Fuck You’ in the car. We then proceeded to listen to it about a hundred times during the journey. Over and over again, singing along, really loud. It’s the perfect song to listen to when driving through beautiful scenic countryside. Fuck You, wildlife. Fuck You.
At one point we got stuck behind a lorry carrying about 80–100 logs, trundling along for quite a while until it signalled for us to overtake. The promoter in the car in front of us was able to do so but we didn’t think we could pull it off in time so we stayed put. This left us in a tricky position because we didn’t know the way to the venue without the promoter and had no way of contacting him because we had no phone signal up in the hills. So for about twenty minutes we trailed behind the log lorry, occasionally peering round to see if we could overtake and agreeing with each other that we could not. After twenty minutes of this we reached a very long, very empty stretch of road that we all unanimously agreed we could overtake the lorry on without any problems occurring.
As we began to overtake I was surprised that the car wasn’t accelerating as fast as I was used to. What I haven’t mentioned is that this was the second hire car we’d had on the tour. The first one had been pretty nippy, b
ut this was only the second day we’d had this new car and it was far from nippy and right now its lack of nip was causing me to worry as we crawled alongside the lorry. We were getting closer and closer to the bend and it didn’t look like we were going to make it past the lorry in time. By the time we approached the corner we still hadn’t cleared the cab of the lorry and I found myself hoping with every inch of me that the road would remain clear round the bend, but instead four cars came round the corner head on with ours. Everything else happened very quickly and I only know what took place because our poor friend the promoter saw everything unfold in his rear view mirror (he’d stopped to allow us to catch up and had unwittingly parked up in a spot that gave him the perfect view of the upcoming catastrophe).
I steered in between the cars and the lorry, somehow keeping from hitting anything, and as we came out of the corner I had managed to get in front of the lorry and hadn’t hit a single car. But then I caught the front of the very last car with the back corner of mine and span in front of the lorry. The lorry then ploughed into the passenger side of our car, pushing us down the road, then pushing us off of the road up a grass verge on the right hand side, then through a garden, demolishing a greenhouse, then back on to the road again, causing the lorry to drive over the front of our car, obscuring our friend’s view of us completely. At this point the lorry flipped over and all of the logs came loose and rolled off the lorry and on to our car. The car was then carried amongst a swirling sea of rolling logs, some of which were embedding themselves in the windscreen, before we burst through a hedgerow and into a field where we finally stopped moving. The only means of escape was Josie’s passenger window, which we all clambered out of, jogging over several waves of logs to safety. All three of us stood in the field, looking at the scene, in a daze.
James Acaster’s Classic Scrapes Page 17
