Last Sunday we did the first 'episode' of our new improvised show, Off Your Chest, at Lowdown at The Albany. I've never had to improvise a whole show before, so it was 'a learning experience'.

One of the things I learnt was that a pun isn't always just a groan moment for an audience. In the right context it can take their breath away. And leave me spluttering like a deflating twat for a good four minutes.

As a Kilroy-esque chat show host, I'd been challenging Darren Strange to explain how he spent his benefits. We'd established that his benefits were insufficient for him to eat at Pizza Express every day. He said:

"If I stop going spending my benefits on pizzas in the current climate they'll go under. Pizza Express will go under, ASK will go under, eventually Pizza Hut will go under..."

And from behind us, John Voce, veteran of the Comedy Store Players, the voice that launched a thousand Kwik Fit adverts, said:

"It's the Domino's effect."

Just wow.

In scripted comedy that's a sigh, something we've all been aware was coming, a punchline. Here it was a small but tiny victory over chaos, manna from the comedy gods, a moment when the universe falls into alignment.

I had to hide my face because I was laughing so hard.

So there is a time and a place for a pun to be majestic and exciting. It's at our next show, April 12th at Lowdown at The Albany, 240 Great Portland St, at 7:30.

Why not come and see if John can do it again?

Just wow.

'Class'

TV News...Comic Relief Special On CBBC - We Love Telly - TV & Entertainment - Mirror.co.uk

The sitcom I wrote has a preview in The Mirror. I'm getting quite nervous as to how it turned out now.

Still, we shall see...

Apparently, Homer Simpson was at Obama's latest speech (listen carefully at 6:34)...



Woohoo!

I never assumed I'd find myself sticking up for people who named their children Adolf Hitler Campbell and Aryan Nation Campbell. But I think, much as it turns my stomach, I'm going to have to.

These people have had their children taken away because they're racists. Courts have decided that these children would be better off in care than living with racist morons. I disagree.

I believe that unless a parent is physically abusive to their children, it's probably best that their children grow up with them, no matter how weird, alcoholic, or even racist the parents are.

And they're really stretching things to find grounds for removing these children. Their landlord said: “They’re not destroying anything, the house is clean and they pay their rent on time,” he said. But, he added, “There comes a point when you say, ‘Enough is enough.’” Yes! Damn those clean, non-destructive residents who are punctual with the rent. Damn them to hell!

Essentially, I believe you should be taken away from your parents only if they are going to do you physical harm. I believe that because the alternative is so extreme. A childhood in care homes or foster homes is an outcome to be avoided when possible.

Lots of us have idiots for parents. Lots of us have people who are more or less racist for parents. Lots of our parents give us names that make our schooldays hellish. None of that stops them loving us, or us loving them, or our being raised in a supportive, loving environment..

And we get over it. We get over the things our parents do. We get over the terrible people (in some ways) our parents are. We try not to make their mistakes. We try not to name our children Heinrich Himmler Tapley. We get better. We try not to make the same mistakes. We have our own hideous mistakes to crush our children with...

And, yes, I've just found myself defending the people who gave their children horrible racist names. Bleeeeh.

Gah.

This is just a test to see if the new comments system is working.

But I hope you're having a wonderful day, anyway...

The Battley-Tapley Christmas Letter 2008

Well, what a year 2008's been in the Battley-Tapley household! There have been tears, joy, and laughter for us, unlike for those of you from whom we haven't received a Christmas letter: whose lives we can only assume have been utterly eventless.

The big news, of course, this year, is that it looks like Natt's alcoholism is finally under control. In the past few months we have been able to visit bars, restaurants, and zoos with relative confidence. Not since August has he jumped onto a dessert trolley and started smearing himself with Black Forest Gateau, or improperly fondled a koala. We pray that his progress continues through 2009, and the courts agree to remove his tag at his hearing in April!

Zoe's ongoing course of botox and regenerative gene therapy has really kicked her career up a few notches, and she is now appearing as 'a human statue' in Covent Garden, no less! She isn't enjoying the commute, and her ongoing feud with one of the fire jugglers has caused some problems, but she struggles on, and hopes to be promoted to the South Bank soon!

2008 also saw the birth of our fourth child, Enrique, who was taken away by bailiffs because of the credit crunch.

Still, let's not get ahead of ourselves. There's nothing worse than a Christmas letter that is anything but completely thorough, so here we go...

JANUARY saw the slaughter of Amanda, our pig. We hated to have to do it, but she was looking very old and tasty. Seeing Eleanor playing in the warm entrails of the sow that had once suckled her (during Zoe's post-natal depression) was really special, and emphasised how lucky we are to have a daughter and some delicious sausages.

FEBRUARY was a difficult month, that saw Zoe convicted of a 'road rage'. To clarify, because there have been a lot of falsehoods disseminated about this incident in the press, Zoe was not naked at the time. She was wearing a hat, and a bandolier full of ammunition.

MARCH was a very proud month, as Eleanor won the Nobel Prize for Physics for her work on the Planck scale, and quantum fluctuations in space-time. She also got her Grade 3 Oboe (no distinction this time), and a 25 metre swimming badge.

APRIL saw our annual hibernation. It was perhaps our most successful hibernation since 1996.

MAY was the month in which Natt's one-man show, an adaptation of Hamlet,with Natt doing all of the voices took to the stage - or should we say, the pavement! Eschewing fusty traditional venues, One Man Hamlet was an exciting experiment in open air theatre: a performance without the gaudy appurtenances of lighting, costumes, or an audience. In a rave review, Westminster Council called it 'a public nuisance'.

JUNE saw Eleanor complete the first leg of her around-the-world tricycle ride. Unfortunately, her record-breaking attempt had to be cut short when she was accosted by a group of road-pirates in the Urals, and was sold into white slavery. She smuggled her way back into Britain in a Somalian's stomach.

JULY failed to produce any notable events for our family. We think that this is probably July's fault, and have decided not to participate in July in 2009.

AUGUST was the month in which the Olympic fever gripped the country. Zoe's stalwart efforts in the pole vault won her a nomination as BBC Sports Personality of the Year, and a ruptured vagina. The heroic way in which she limped from the field, and gamely applied ice and bandages to her crotch won the nation's hearts.

SEPTEMBER, as ever, was an exciting time, as Zoe's birthday party loomed. Once again, the party guests were treated to a torrent of personal abuse, watered-down alcohol, and the sight of Zoe staring drink-sodden into a mirror, clawing at her face and weeping: 'Where did it all go so very wrong.' Great fun!

OCTOBER was the month in which Eleanor finally made us very proud grandparents. After 15 long months, she provided us with a grandson, Patrice. Her boyfriend, Malcolm, works at an abattoir, sweeping up blood, but this will only be true whilst he is on remand, after which he plans to train as a teacher. We would have preferred it if they were married, but Malcolm already has a wife and four children, so we understand why they thought that it would be both inappropriate and illegal.

NOVEMBER saw Natt back in prison, the victim, yet again, of mistaken identity. Once again, we would appeal for anyone who has seen the violent, drunken groper of women and animals who just happens to share Natt's name and face and DNA to come forward. Your evidence could be vital.

DECEMBER isn't even finished yet, and already we know it's going to be the best Christmas ever. The family portraits in the attic grow ever more demented and hideous, which can only augur well for the new year!

Natt and Zoe and Eleanor and Patrice wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy 2009. Have a wonderfully festive period.

Love,

N, Z & E
x

Now, then. Here's something with which I'm tangentially involved. It's in a competition of some sort, so please do watch and rate it, if you're at all inclined. If not, don't.

Thanks...

N
x

Every now and again, Hazel Blears does something to remind me why I hate her more than any other MP. Most are just misguided, venal, cowardly idiots. She, however, is something special, a ball of uncorrupted evil, deserving of nothing more than vivisection so that we can find out how a creature with neither a brain nor a heart can display all of the outward symptoms of life.

This time, she done give a speech. In which she says the following:

"And in recent years commentary has taken over from investigation or news reporting, to the point where commentators are viewed by some as every bit as important as elected politicians, with views as valid as cabinet ministers."

Because no one has views as 'valid' as those of cabinet ministers. It's an impossibility.

She doesn't stop at suggesting that cabinet ministers might be better-informed on certain issues, she asserts (and she elaborates in her next sentence) that unless you are an MP, or, more properly, a member of the ruling party so spineless that you have a cabinet position, your opinions aren't even valid. She goes on:

"You fucking idiots. How dare you presume to be able to give anything like the appropriate quality of thought to issues that might affect your life? Do you have a badge that makes you an approved thinker? Has anyone ever voted for you in the misguided belief that you were going to represent their views? Are you one of the 646 people in this country with valid opinions? No? Then shut up. Pricks. You people make me sick."

She then lowered her pastel-coloured trousers and shat on the grateful face of one of her enraptured constituents. Said the constituent: "I'll never wash this face again. It's an honour and a privilege to have been used as a turd-basket by an illiberal harridan who came last in the first round of Labour's last deputy leadership election. The faeces that currently clogs my nostrils represents, in a very real sense, the views of the 11% of the Labour party who supported her."

In fact, as Hazel goes on to talk about how only thought sanctioned by having won an election is appropriate, valid, or useful, she must have as thoroughly rejected all of her own views as the Labour Party did last year.

She seems, as usual, to fundamentally not have any understanding of her job as an MP. Her job is to represent the views of her constituents in Parliament, not to have better ones (like her idea to 'rebrand' ethnic minorities) because the people in her constituency were too feckless and idle to have valid thoughts.

She doesn't even have the modicum of intelligence necessary to realise that - gasp! - you don't need to have been elected by anyone to be a cabinet member. Like Peter Mandelson. What, exactly, made the views of the never-elected Andrew Adonis more valid than anyone else's when it came to schools? The fact that he was in the cabinet. And thus, according to Hazel, we should all shut up.

She makes me physically ill, and Unity does a great job on her over at Ministry of Truth. I'm going to go and try to scrub the stench of Blears from my typing fingers...

It took me - what? - half an hour to get bored with this...

23:25 – Matt Frei is a pasty toad, and wrong about everything. Here he goes again, croaking out another flatulent litany of nonsense.

23:31 – Come on, Kentucky, get on with it! Your fried chicken might well be unfeasibly delicious but your laxness in vote-counting is really, really irritating...

23:33 – Even Rupert Murdoch trembles when Barack Obama smites things with his mighty protectionist fist. Obama is the scariest entity in the known universe: God and dark matter quake before him.

23:36 – Virginia forgot to get provide any way for people to vote. If they're black.

23:40 – Dimbleby is boring me rigid. I'm going to get some booze.

23:41 – John Simpson has just liberated Chicago! And he's not going to take any shit from Dimbleby.

23:45 – Some evil Republican woman is reminding us all that we thought we were going to win four years ago, and that our hearts were slowly shredded over the course of an evening then. For bringing that up she will be made to suffer in a deep, hot corner of hell.

23:48 – Apparently, the exit poll says that 61% of people believe John McCain will raise taxes, because he, too, is a filthy socialist, and he needs the money to pay for more houses. For him.

23:53 - “Well, this is getting, erm *sigh* tense.” Yawn.

Booze.

Did anyone else see the pictures of the Christians praying to the bronze bull for a return to better economic times:
and think of this?

I'm guessing that if you want God's help, it's probably best not to use a ceremony that there's a specific injunction against in the first of his ten commandments. And really, really, don't do exactly the thing that made Moses so cross he smashed up those commandments, and had to go and copy them out again. Really.

(Exodus 32:4, for those of you who are interested)