|CV and History|
Being from the famous Webster family (the people who make the dictionaries), I've never been short of money so I didn't really need to get in to this, but I had to or my rich grandfather, Cyril Blaydon Baths IV was going to cut my 20k per month allowance. So it was off to the Job Centre with the filthy, working class people to try to find a job.
It turned out that I wasn't really qualified for anything so it was a straight four way choice between the Police Force, The Mayor of Gateshead, Cowboy or a Comedian, I narrowly missed out on British Rail Porter as I can only drink sixteen pints a day).
Anyway, after taking the Eliza Doolittle "Learn Geordie In A Day" course, I was ready for my first open spot. In those days it was very, very politically correct, in fact feminists were lobbying the Government to call the new year 1993, you'd better sit down for a wee. Before the gig, a big enormous femmy who had changed her name by deed poll to Dave, went through my material and anything that eluded to women being second class citizens was immediately cut out.
This was a bit of a hindrance as all the script had biro through it, even all the coughs I'd written on the page. Anyway, a compromise was reached when I agreed that after every laugh I'd say "Women are great, especially educated women" and the booking took place.
The response was amazing, I was carried shoulder high around the streets of Byker then thrown into the tyne with dumbbells tied to my limbs. I managed to escape and went back a couple of weeks later and did the whole gig with electrodes attached to my genitals at the feminist's insistence.
I started trawling the country looking for gigs. Manchester was the first place. In them days it was full of people with hair like Dougall from the magic roundabout saying things like "Isn't Manchestu great, it's full of crime and great music", and "I love Menchestu me, it's full of crime and got two football teams who are rivals" and "How good is Manchestu, It's got women and men and they go out at the weekend to enjoy the city's unrivalled nightlife" and "Manchestu is both brilliant and shit at the same time making it therefore brilliant". (I don't know whether this is working so well in print). I didn't do very well due to the fact my clothes were shit and I didn't feel the vibe from the Hacienda.
I kept getting asked back but only due the fact I'd done a course called "Comics, How to survive in Manchester". It was a great course. That Mel woman from Des and Mel was on it and Gordon Honeycombe the ex newsreader. I learnt that to survive in Manchester you had to refer to Man. Utd. as United even though there are a load of other teams with united in their name. You had to start dancing when you heard a car alarm going off or when someone started talking fast and you should always claim to have been to school with someone from 808 state or Slaughter and the Dogs if you're a bit older.
Some bloke called Mark Thompson but he insisted you call him Schnazzo introduced me to Schozzo, Mozzo, Maaaaazzo and Daaaarrrrzo. They were all solicitors but because they were solicitors from Manchestu apparently they were "dead sound and not like normal solicitors". This was a difficult time to be living in Britain because if you dared say that Chris Evans was shit, they would send blokes to your door with pick axes and fire torches and would burn you out of your house for being an unfunny person or French or something. Woe betide if you said that you didn't like Friends. They would come round with Tar and feathers and they would call you a lesbian even if you were a bloke.
I got a grant to buy a ukelele, (I didn't quite have the money for Anthrax and an envolope) so now I could legitimitely be a rebel on stage with various ukelele songs. My first songs were called "Shoes, shoes, socks", "Wor lass is oot with the bairn" and "Ruud Gullit is a cunt". They were well received as was my first performance poem called "Things on top of things". I was halfway through writing a song called "Being middle class is farking great" but I ran out of balsamic vinegar therefore my inspiration dried up and it became an unfinished piece. This period of my life was excellent especially doing gigs in Newcastle where there is a large class divide. One part of the room would nod at eachother and say things like, 'Can't wait to tell everyone at the Deli in Osbourne Road', and another part of the room would say 'This cunt's funny, I can't wait to tell my stinking freinds down the club that should be in prison'.
A couple of Geordie comics became my friends, Mick Local and Sopwith Mental who used get on stage and do jokes eluding to the fact that he was really eccentric and had a genius comic mind, so much so that the Hyena Cafe ran a comedy course called 'How to do comedy the Sopwith way because he's phenominal'. I didn't do the course, I was too busy getting my fingernails ripped out by Irish Navvies on the quayside (I thought that this would be a more pleasant experience). The other Geordie comics at the time were Dave Madstammer, 'Cheeky' Micky Londonaddress and Ross Philkay. I didn't mix with those people because I think I was a bit weird because I liked weird things like football, drinking and having a laugh. They were much more in to more normal stuff like talking at great length about their own career or mentioning in every conversation about the A list celebrities that they knew. When I told them that my dad knew the bloke who refereed the Randolph Turpin v Sugar Ray Robinson fight in 1951 they weren't impressed. (That last fact is fucking true by the way, just like everything else on this page).
I bought myself a car because I was sick of having to go on National Express coaches down to London with the cast of the Adams family on the seats in front of me or someone with a shotgun stuffed down his trousers trying to act normal. The train wasn't much better. The worst thing about the train was that you had to buy a book on the way back called 'How to be Better at Being Better and Better', or 'How to Succeed in Business and Win Arguments and have a Huge Cock'. My favourite book at the time was, 'The Government, How They Really Do Stuff That Isn't Very Nice' by Jeremy Hardy. One time on the train I succesfully stopped it being hijacked by bandits by getting this bloke who was sitting next to me from Ashington to just sit there and bore them to death by talking about his derg and how he takes it oot rabbiting on a Sunday. The bandits actually killed themselves and told everyone to keep quiet about it and that's why you never read about it in the papers and such like.
Later I got a bit of a break in television. It was on a popular show with the young people called 'The Show that happens at a certain time of night Show'. I got the chance to try out as a roving reporter. I was running round council estates in London saying 'You people are poor, isn't it a right laugh', whereupon I would take the tapes back to the studio and everybody who was well educated would laugh like drains and say things like "This'll be hilarious because poor people are a piece of shit". I was encouraged to do jokes about religion, women being useless, white working class people being twats and how Jordan is unbelievebly funny cos she's in the papers, sadly I didn't get the job, they gave it to a bloke in a suit instead.