It's our last night in Edinburgh and I meet up with my mate James Piekos who's over for the weekend with his better half. After watching an amazing and incredible show about marketing* we sink a bottle of wine and tear it up at the legendary venue "Late and Live" which Richard Herring blogs about here. It's good to see James but I get riotously p#ssed and talk utter sh#te to him**. I'm excited about various things*** and it's a quality night.
I'm stumbling from the table we've got at 'Late and Live' to the toilet. Full of wine and beer I push my way through the bacchanalian hordes towards the little alcove near the door. There, stood back in the shadows, is a smallish but familliar figure. I recognise him like you would a friend but can't quite place him. He's looking up at me fearfully. Suddenly I realise who he is!
"Holy f#ckballs! It's Phil Nichol!!". Now, remember, I'm quite drunk at the moment and I'm a massive fan of this guy having seen his show twice. He more than a little confused by me and timidly asked: "Hi. You're not going to hit me are you?". Now he might have been joking but I really felt that he was being serious. "What?" I asked him. "You're not going to punch me or anything?" he confirmed. "No man! I'm a massive fan, why would I do that? No way!" I projected into his face as I gave him a big hug.
I pulled him into the hallway and ranted at him about how great I thought his show was: "better than your last one man, it's got a filmic quality to it!". Only to get the following response; "the critics don't think so". He seemed to be in quite a weird mood but in retrospect I was utterly w#nkered and perhaps I was just harrasing the poor guy. This thought occured to me a bit at the time so I straightened myself up a bit and tried to go into business mode:
"Erm, yeah well, I'm a radio DJ and we're looking to do interviews with good comedians like yourself so, err, let me get your number here and we'll get you on the show at some point.."
"Ok, it's 07*****."
"Cool, I'll, um, get my producer to give you a call in a month or so. Enjoyed the show man (my business demeanor starting to slip a bit). Seen it twice actually. In fact I bootlegged it!"
"Wha'? You bootlegged my show?"
"Um. Yup. Erm. Or no. I don't know. Anyway, see you later for that chat."
We said goodbye and I wandered off to have a p#ss thinking to myself that perhaps I shouldn't have admitted that I'd illegally taped his work. The logic at the time was that if I could prove I was a real fan of his work I'd be able to impress him or something. Then maybe he'd stop looking so f#cking frightened of me. Madness. It reminded me a little of the time me and the lady saw Johnny Vegas in Manchester.
I wonder whose phone number he gave me?
*Both "amazing" and "incredible" because it was so profoundly bad. Really f#cking awful. Worst show we saw! I'm not going to give any more detail than that. It's not fair. But it was a really p#ss poor attempt. The only good bit was he gave me a little bit of a deep fried Mars bar at one point. That was nice!
**I always talk utter sh#t under the influence of alcohol. Some people think you're more honest after a beer or three. Not me. I'm astounded when people remind me of what I've said when drunk.
*** Of which more later.