Day 237 - Thurs 6th September - Birthday Comedy Chops

Today is my comedy night. It's come around again. Looming large on my fearometer. Always niggling at the back of my head. Tonight Comedy Chops returns.

It's Part 2 of my 40th Birthday Trilogy (Pub Idle 3 to follow on Saturday night) and if I'm honest the thing i get most fearful about.

I've written quite a bit of material (not remembered it so it's written down on a clipboard), promoted it quite a bit and booked 3 good acts. In short I've done everything i can.

I'm covering Neil Armstrong's death, Turning 40 (of course) The Tesco Mobile advert and Olympics.

I spent all day avoiding actually writing down the gags, memorising and speaking it through. I made so many cups of tea, smoked numerous cigarettes and watch Elvis so many times on You Tube i actually felt constipated aswell.

Finally at 2pm i settled down and banged in a few hours graft. In my kitchen speaking out loud i sounded magnificent. The material was dynamite. Amazing. Like a cross between Bill Hicks and Billy Connolly. My god I'm a genius.

Then when i drove to the Hurlingham pub for the Comedy, my material got progressively shittier with every passing Mile. Until when i reached the pub in SW6 it was about as funny as Joe Pasquali with haemorrhoid's. How did that happen? In the space of 6 miles i went from Comedy God to Comedy Dogshit. Weird. Good job the gig wasn't furher. Would have been Mental carnage, or marnage.

My routine is always the same. I panic all day with low level fear. I usually have around 5 shits. Don't eat anything, smoke and drink diet coke and write down my material on a big sheet. Then i arse about putting it off watching Flog It! until i get sick of myself and knuckle down. Then i read it through 3 or 4 times and have shower. (today i used my birthday presents and gave myself a facial, which in the old days would have meant a really keen wank on my back, but now that I'm 40 meant clinique face scrub & moisturiser)

Then i get in the car and spend the journey trying to pray to relax, remember its only a pub comedy night and not to take myself too seriously. Usually that works for around 3 seconds so i start smoking & worrying again.

When i get to the pub i usually try to change the entire room layout needlessly causing massive headache for the staff, only to change it back. Then i go through a series of conversations with people without listening as I'm only thinking if people will actually show up, then at 8.50pm i go outside and look up and down the road hoping to see an army of 50 people coming to bolster the meagre crowd inside. I go to my car, smoke and consider running away. Then i pray, head back and it's time to start at 9pm. Fuck me, now I've got to remember to be funny and relaxed!

We had 44 people in, it was a lovely room. Atmosphere was excellent and i did all my material, some of which was pretty dam good. I relaxed, had fun and the acts were very very good tonight and it was one of the best nights I've done. I actually enjoyed it.

All that worry, stress, fear, panic for no reason. I actually saw potential in my style, delivery and material. This little soldier was a teeny bit proud tonight and i can actually look forward to my party now on Saturday. Phew.

On the health front i sank several litres of diet coke, smoked numerous cigarettes and got to bed at 3am for a 8am start for work. I shan't be posting that one on Nick Evans Personal Training. sshhhhhhh

xx

 

Day 236 - Weds 5th Sep - Back to the real world

My 1st day of being 40. Woke up, took off my pyjamas, put on my cardigan and slippers, tended to my tomatoes in the garden, turned on Radio 4...aaarrrrrrgggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. It;s just a bad dream.

Woke up far too early on far too little sleep. It really is like being 39. Tea, prayed, gratitude list, then off to my 1 day of work a week, which if you ask me, is 1/2 day too long.

That's when i encountered my 1st problem. I was off to Essex and found out half way there, there was a huge water leak on North Circular which put Brent Cross under 10 feet of water, meant shutting the whole North Circular, meaning chaos, meaning a 3 hour journey for 24 miles. Welcome fucking home. Nice.

Day at work. Yawn

Journey home. Exactly the same, 3 hours, totalling 6 hours to Essex and back. I could have gone to France, Ireland, Scotland. Flown to Dubai for Christ sakes. Instead it was Brent f****g c****g Cross. What a shit hole. In fact I'd be pleased if it all submerged underwater. Like Venice but with more Chicken Cottages. Bastards Brent Cross.

I only wanted to kill myself 6 times during the journey. I did take the chance to practice singing for Saturday and a few gags for Comedy Chops tomorrow, but i would seriously have preferred to read Simon Cowell's autobiography than sit through that shit.

Birthday? What birthday? Holiday? You're joking aren't you? That's well gone. Back to the real world. Tits

Saw a nice sign on in the midst of the Jam though which raised a smile

 

Why do they always feel the need to advertise psychic fayres? And a psychic fayre in the Turks Head pub Garden, Hendon? MMMM not sure i'll be trying to contact the King in that one.

xx

Day 235 - Tues 4th Sep - Turning 40

I've made it. I've actually made it to the big 4-0. They say life begins at 40, unfortunately it didn't for John Lennon but i hope it will for me.

I didn't think I'd get there. I mean, i drank myself to a standstill in my 20's. Took loads of LSD and Ecstasy in my teens. Smoked millions of cigarettes, drunk mountains of diet coke, run thousands of miles and had sex with a variety of growlers. No matter how much I've abused my body & mind, I'm still standing (well I'm sitting to write this landmark blog) but i made it god dam it. I'm here.

I'm now officially a grown up. Middle aged. 50% as insane as Clint Eastwood. I can buy 40 + with pride, I'm a grown man (but with a mental age of 12)

They say 40 is the new 30 which is lucky as i was in blackout for my 20's. But if that's the case 20's the new 10, so if i date a girl in her 20's? What does that make me? Oh yes. An inmate.

It's a landmark age. My 5th decade. Christ now that does sound old doesn't it? I mean when i was young 40 seemed ancient. For real grown ups. 40 year olds went out to garden centres, built sheds & had Pensions and stuff

A 40 year old man is supposed to be sorted right? Married, kids, mortgage, career, pension, ISA's, shed, Tool kit, the works. He should be able to change spark plugs, know the merits of interest rate fixes and sub woofers.


If that's the case, well then I'm fucked. I'm single, no kids, no mortgage, rented place, part time job, i wear jeans that are tighter than leggings, no 10 year plan, no pension, savings. I don't really understand ISA's even though i worked in financial services for 3 years, no shed let or tool kit and only thing i know about spark plugs is that they are somewhere under the bonnet. I'm really selling myself here aren't I?

All my mates are married with kids, I'm the odd one out. Basically I'm an orange revel.

It's not easy being single at 40 though. I mean when i go to wife swapping parties the only thing I've got to swap is chlamydia. It's tough.

And there's real pressure. All my married pals make me sleep with as many as women as possible so they actually have a sex life.

But some people say a single promiscuous life of self indulgent fun is empty, cold and harsh. They may have a point but i say fuck em. Life's too short.

And have you seen how tired people with kids are? It's like looking at the Grateful Dead. Big circles around their eyes.

Organising a social night out with mates with kids? Forget it, "How about Tuesday 16th October 2017. Johny's at scouts so I'm free until 10pm.". It;s a nightmare.

If procreation and marriage is the secret to a happy and fulfilled existence, how come all my married friends with kids tell me 2 things. 'don't get married' and 'don't have kids'.

They do say though the secret to a long and happy marriage can be boiled down into 2 words. 'Sky' and 'plus'.

No, I'm a resolutely single man of 40 with no real responsibility. The only thing I'm really scared of is commitment. Strange really as i love being tied down. Or is that up?

Today i decided enough is enough. That's it. i need to change. To grow up. To take responsibility. Be a man. Get some meaning in my life, So I've decided it's time to step up to mark. I'm going to show my life is not one long self obsessed selfish stroll.

I'm going to get a Cactus.

They say get a plant for 1 year and if that's OK, get a pet. Look after it and if after a year that's OK then you're ready for wife/kids.

If i start off with a cactus, surely i can't fuck that up, i mean you only need to water it every 3 months. Even i can't run away from that one. It';s a massive responsibility but one i think at 40 I'm ready to take on.

Usually you are heading towards a mid life crisis at 40. Where you dye your hair, chat up younger girls, take up ridiculous challenges and wear inappropriate clothes for your age. Not me. i had mine at 30.

I'm a bit of a freak. What i mean by that is that i think I'm just warming up. A late starter. A slow learner. I'm better now than at any stage of my life. I mean look at me at 28;



Now here's me at 40;




I look at pictures of myself at 20 and i think 'fat bastard'
i look at pictures of myself now and think 'Gordon Ramsay'
Not sure if that's progress though

I mean looking this thin and lean at 40 is not easy you know. It takes literally thousands of cigarettes, hundreds and hundreds of litres of diet coke and years and years of bulimia. It's not easy being thin.

No, really with all seriousness I'm looking forward to it. The last 10 years has if I'm honest been a journey of aesthetic. Yes I've done loads of stuff. I'm 11 years sober. I look so different in fact I'm almost unrecognisable to how i was at 20 or even 30. I'm happier in myself and feel pretty much OK most of the time.

Yet i still have many of the old behaviours and thinking since i was a kid. The low self esteem, the busy head, the fear, the projection, the procrastination, the feeling of worthlessness and angst sometimes become overwhelming. That nagging 'you're not good enough' is never far away.

I'm thinking/hoping the next decade will be an inner journey to rid myself of these neuroses that get in the way of life and getting on with stuff. It has blocked me and helped me avoid responsibility etc. I'm sure all that will come. i certainly hope so. That's why i think the 40's will be good for me. I'm in decent shape physically and hopefully the mental will follow. There is plenty to do

Today I didn't feel massively excited or particularly elated. I woke and wrote. Excitedly i took delivery of my white Elvis jumpsuit for Saturday's Pub Idle 3.

Then for the 1st time in 15 years i signed on. Hounslow JSA. I went there with the deepest tan, fake rolex watch, face covered over TV on an advert and said 'i'm looking for work'. Everyone was dressed in Lonsdale from Sports Direct apart from gay boy here who strutted around like an extra from TOWIE. I should have gone in my jumpsuit though and claimed i was looking for work as an impersonator even though i dint look like him and can't sing.

Then it was a short 30 min brutal work out in the park, lunchtime AA meeting, hang in afternoon and me Mothers for a BBQ. I was more interested in her new Patio and fence than my birthday, though we had a lovely night and i got some wonderful presents. Very lucky boy and i do have a world class mother. She really is tip top and so loving and supporting, even if she did regale the story out loud to everyone how she pretended i was a girl for the 1st 2 days of my life because she was so desperate for a daughter. thanks mum.

Here is what you get when you're 40. A Garmin GPS running watch, a cool watch, a packet of giant buttons, a molton brown voucher, skincare products, a cactus, a tasteful hoody, a cool wallet, weight lifting gloves, an eye mask? and my personal favourite from my Mum, some travel tags for your suitcase. A totally random present. She always slips in something totally practical that renders me speechless. She's ace and didn't let me down.

We had a huge BBQ, the weather was warm and a lovely night was had by all. If I'm honest there was not enough conversation about me. I mean no-one really talked about me until desert, and then it was only fleetingly, but that's just the self obsessed head really. It was lovely just to relax and listen and enjoy company of loved ones. It's not all about me, well that's what i tell myself but deep down i want it to be of course.

Then it was time for the cake. A lovely random cake in the shape of a rugby pitch, green with 3 flat figures laying on their front? Quite an eclectic cake as they looked the spitting image of 3 people who had jumped from a high building to their death, or 3 people who were pissed and just dropped on their face, 3 people who were knackered at the end of a ironman or what they were supposed to be. 3 rugby players scoring a try. They were almost flat though and had faces that were similar to that of Sly Stallone's. Funny.

Then that was it. Home at midnight, tired. But happy. Work tomorrow, eek, so i thought i would turnover a new leaf and prepare early. I was in bed for 3am. Nuts.

The birthday will go on all week though, comedy Thursday and the party on Saturday then it;s time to crack on.

But 40 it is, I'm ready for them. I'm looking forward to them and I'm feeling grown up already. Now, where is that spark plug manual? can't be that hard. Is it?

xx

Day 234 - Mon 3rd Sep - Breakfast with God, Heading Home & eve of turning 40

Woke up at 5.30am, leaving at 9.45am so lots to do. Wrote blog in deserted hotel lobby. Went out for few hill sprints in the burning heat and mountain view. I'm really going to miss the scenery. Hit gym for 30 minute sesh. Showered, packed (god it's so much easier for blokes, it's like military planning for women) Then it was down for the last supper. Well breakfast really but you know what i mean.

Stumbled across God again. Same loud shirt and shorts from previous day and tucking into some pancakes & nutella. He's really getting stuck into the all inclusive thing. I couldn't let the moment pass so i had a photograph with him. He maybe called Willy from Austria and live on a boat, but he'll always be God in my eyes. And God eats pancakes for breakfast.

 

He's proper God isn't he? Unless of course you're Muslim, Buddhist, Atheist, Sikh or God himself.

 

Then it was time to leave and make our way to the airport. Always a sad time for any holiday as it's time to return to normal life, winter and finding a job. Can't i stay here for another month please?

 

We flew Monarch again, or is that Primonarch? I know the paralympics are huge and inspirational but i think Monarch have gone too far and designed the seats for double amputees. No leg room at all.

 

The departure lounge, whilst being full of stressed out holiday returnees, was brightened by a fine example of the 'trump'. It's actually the 1st time i have seen it live on a mere mortal. Magnificent barnet, a sort of comb over wrap around. A genuine Trump right there in Dalaman departure lounge. Side parten combed over, wrapped around and then quiffed up. Almost 3 hairstyles in one and it was magnificent. Balding would have been proud. 

 

 

 

The flight was actually OK and although i slate Monarch everything was painless until we hit Gatwick. Huge delays on passport control made it difficult to get back into to GB, Jesus how much does this country rate itself if you have to queue an hour to get back into it? Of course the bags took ages, then waited as long as it took to fly from Turkey to get a bus from the Terminal only to be confronted by a flat tyre on arrival of the Long Stay car park. Nuts. Welcome home.

 

Get back, get milk, have a cuppa, phone people to say 'i'm home', avoid opening brown envelopes for fear of disrupting your holiday glow, unpack case, dust the sand from your kegs and then settle into a slight post holiday melancholy that is called 'life'. The slow realisation of normality kicks in.

 

On reflection It was good holiday. Ultra chilled, i ate ultra healthily, needed to as i was infected with Candida when i left, didn't eat any shit, didn't drink diet coke, ran, worked out, rested, read and enjoyed the heat and environment. Hatched a plan to run a marathon, Ironman and ultra marathon. Then a plan to run the world, all 31,000 KM of it. Just the normal run of the mill holiday thoughts really.

 

Luckily to distract me this week i have my birthday, which is tomorrow (4th). Now I'm not really that into birthdays anymore, they generally stopped being exciting for me around the age of 13. But tomorrow i am 40. An adult. A grown up. Officially middle aged. Oh god. How scary.

 

I shall write about 'being 40' tomorrow, but on the whole I'm feeling good about it. I have a birthday BBQ at me Mums, she's just had a new patio see and is keen to road test it. When i called her last week she said 'can i call you back as we're just in the middle of a garden centre choosing a new fence'. See that's the kind of stuff i associate people of 40+ doing. She chose a high wooden one for the record.

 

I've also got to sign on at the Job centre for 1st time, whilst I'm in between work. This maybe a little tricky as I'm more tanned than Julio Inglesias and I'm all over the tellie on a Tesco advert. Not the usual Job seekers Allowance seeker in Hounslow is it. I may ask them for a birthday bonus which may end up me persuading them I'm not actually a benefit fraud.

 

I have my monthly Comedy Club on Thursday night (1st Thursday of every month) and have been writing down ideas and material for that, again it's in the back of my mind that I'm fearful of it but will try very hard to turn my thinking into the positive to see it as an opportunity and occasion to enjoy.

 

Then finally the week of celebrations will end with Pub Idle 3 on Saturday. XXx Factor. My 40th birthday party. Where friends all gather together dressed as rock stars, with an ace live band, X factor style singing competition which yours truly hosts as Elvis. I get to murder a couple of his songs too, so it should be fun. I did it for my 30th and it is essentially a celebration of the Great British Pub which I've always enjoyed, rather ironic for a recovering alcoholic isn't it?

 

The only real dilemma is white jumpsuit or black leather look. Both of which i'm having to do on the cheap. So i may end up looking a little like a sort of 'council Elvis', but that's alright Mamma.

 

So that's it. Holiday over. I'm still amazed you can start the day overlooking the sea and mountains in Turkey and end it in your pants in your kitchen writing your blog in Isleworth.

 

I'm a lucky boy really. Roll on the 40's

 

xx

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 233 - Sun 2nd Sep - Day 7 Hol Blog - Last Day

The final day of the holiday. Flying early tomorrow morning so it's the last chance to fry up and get the ultimate. That's moving from a 'Dickinson' to a 'Hamilton'. Only the very few reach this mythical tan status but i reckon I'm in with a shot.

The last day is of course spent going over the previous few days,  listing what you have done, going through the photos and deleting the ones of you don't like. Shame really as i miss the whole going to Boots and getting your film processed and waiting to see how the pics look. Quickly going through the 'scenic' shots before getting to the ones of you. It sort of elongated that holiday feel even more. Digital photogrpahy has killed that and now you can edit your own holiday to make it look even better. Then of course you turn your attention to all the crappy stuff you left behind and the reason you went away in the first place. It's that little thing called reality and it's a pain.

All good things come to an end, and the final day of a holiday is always a bittersweet day. You have now become used to and take for granted waking up to blazing sunshine. You haven't needed to make your bed, cook, drive, worry about public transport, field calls, work, put on a coat, watch TV or indeed worry what day it is.

It's an odd concept. Holiday time. At home we are defined by the days and time. Monday is start of week and shit, Tuesday is a sort of nothing day. Like the weekly equivalent of Nick Clegg. Weds is totally neutral a bit like Switzerland really, Thursday is more like it, the new Friday apparently. Then Friday is Friday. No point doing much work, it's essentially the weekend, then of course you have the weekend Saturday and Sunday. Where you either fix shit, do shit, drink shit or chill.

But on holiday of course none of this matters. Every day merges into one. There is no concept of time or days. They all look the same, the weather is the same, the restaurants are the same. You have no appointments, no meetings, no TV shows. It's great and relaxing of course, Your only real decisions to make are beach or pool. You can tell it's a different day by how much of your book you've read. If I'm honest i love that feeling different days give you and doing the same holiday thing day in day out whilst very lovely, makes me a little mentally flabby.

Don't get me wrong i love being in the sun and being on holiday but if i hear one more Macarana or MC getting the party going I'm gunna fucking blow! The resort is lovely but it's full of people. I mean they're great and of course it's all about the 10 year old having fun but occasionally just a bit of peace would suffice. God this is where the ungrateful Nick rears his head.

I've had an insight into what it's like to have kids. You're life is dedicated to them and providing them with the environment to have fun, so you hang out with other parents in the same position & go to 'family' resorts. Kids meet kids on holiday and it's great for them, gives the parents a rest bite & is all part of it. I mean i try to be good and selfless and everything but sometimes i crave a power wank in the morning and a day of no screaming, water polo by the pool, 'Macarana', beach aerobics, buffet lunch, water slide competition and evening show. 2 weeks of that and i genuinely believe you may see a spree killing. Not sure I'm ready for the whole children thing yet.

Today's highlight was most certainly taking young un out for her 1st ever jet ski ride. Whilst it was Great fun i hadn't driven one for 14 years and had a 10 year old clinging on so i drove like a girl. I remarked to the bloke that it felt a 'little heavy on the left stearing', so he proceeded to do stunts and throw it around like it should be, laughed in my face and said 'no'. The Turks spent the next 10 mins in the boat back to shore speaking Turkish and laughing loudly, looking in my direction. I was Humiliated on a jet ski, but at least the 10 year old didn't notice, and hey i hit maximum speed a few times!

The other pleasing thing today was the spotting of God several times. He looks so much like the Christian cliched image I've decided it is him. He wears a loud Hawaiian shirt every day, cargo shorts and flip flops, massive white beard and long white hair. He rarely speaks and just pops up around the resort.

Today God was out on a pedlo, tucked into Beef fajitas and apple sponge for dinner, shopped at the resort jewellers for what looked suspiciously like bling and listened to the easy listening cover band with a cup of tea and a cigar. Brilliant.

It makes sense to me, i mean if God was to go on holiday i reckon he'd pick an all inclusive to totally chill. He has alot of pressure every day so Club Letoonia in Turkey is the perfect place. He doesn't have to cook, worry about paying for anything, he has all the entertainment laid on and can just switch off. He's probably left Simon Cowell in charge whilst he recharges.

If you think about it, there's been a full moon, which he probably arranged to give stunning night scenes, weather's been perfect every day and he's also in the massive suite over looking the sea. Probably got a free upgrade because he arranged a mess up with his rooms. 'you lucky thing they've upgraded you to the $1000 a day suite for free. How did you swing that?' He just shrugged. Humble see.

No, it's definately God no question, though I've let him be. Like Rod Stewart last thing God needs is people coming up to him bothering him for autographs & things like 'what's my future looking like' and 'can you bring back Woolworths'. Let him be and chill. He's on holiday.

My last night was spent basically wanting to go to bed. So knackered today. I feel tons better than when i arrived but my sodding Candida is still with me and sometimes i get so fatigued. managed to last until 11pm before heading to bed. Christ i really am middle aged rock and roll.

Fly back tomorrow and it's straight into my 40th birthday on Tuesday, comedy on Thursday and my party on Saturday. Officially Middle aged this week. Well i think i hit that tonight when a 10 year old stayed out later than me. Jim Morrison, Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain. Can you hear me? I'm so sorry. I've let you down. I'm going to have to start dressing like Clarkson now and be done with it. Pass me the Homebase glue gun people. Looks like I'm going to need it, just haven't quite worked out what for yet. DIY, Sniff or Suicide. I'll decide in the morning

xx

Day 232 - Sat 1st Sep - Day 6 Hol Blog - Tesco Advert

Done worry blog not as long today people and it's a tight ending.

I’ve done it! I’ve reached what’s known in the sunbathing world as ‘Official Dickinson’. The holy grail. You can only dream of it as you shiver in Britain’s wettest summer in 100 years, but bang a week in Turkey into the mix, show some commitment and hey presto. I’m beiger than a 70’s Geography teacher. My work is done. I shall be expecting a telegram from the King of Beige himself any time soon.

 

It’s always good to have goals on holiday. I set out to look the same colour as my brown leather belt and I’ve nailed it. But I’m not satisfied, I’m not stopping now. Day 7 is all about going for the impossible. I’m looking to go the same colour as Elvis’ black leather suit so I blend in at Pub Idle 3, my 40^th birthday party next Sat.

 

I’m Tired today, so I sent the girls off on a jeep safari all day. I was just not up for it, so I had a day on my own, in peace, to try and get on with what I needed to do, other than do a reverse Michael Jackson. (Go from white to black)

 

Slept, ran (1 hour), sunbathed, read, did a 2 hour writing stint, a gym session, wrote some more and that was the day complete. Time soon goes.

 

Saturday night soon came and I continued to get loads more messages about the Tesco Mobile advert. Mostly from people I haven’t seen for a ages. It must be airing on prime time TV. It’s funny because it’s an advert and I appear for a massive 4 seconds, people are doing a double take. “Is that Nick?” When you have a pal in TV or the movies you know they will appear on screen, when you have a pal who’s effectively a nobody and they appear fleetingly in an advert you don’t expect it, so it’s a total double take.

 

I’ve had messages from Portugal and the best one goes to William, a Millwall fan, who informed me the advert was played at half time on the big screen at The Den today. Great, I’m in my kegs doing yoga at Milwall FC. He did the line of day though, when he said “you’ll understand why I didn’t mention to everyone I know the bloke in his underpants on the telly”

 

It’s been a massive response (for me) around 30 messages from people. Mostly saying well done. Not sure why though, as all I did was sit around in my grundies in Kew Gardens for 2 hours to have 4 seconds used in an advert selling a pony old mobile phone. They didn’t even give me one. And I’m told I only got the gig because I’m cheaper than Beckham and don’t bone as many Welsh Opera singers.

 

I’m exactly 14 mins and 56 seconds shy of Warhol’s 15 minutes of fame. Much rather get a well done from something I’ve actually achieved. Still I’m gunning for more. Aldi, Lidel, Focus, Poundstretcher. Asda. Bring them all on.

 

The night was spent setting the world chicken kebab eating record. I unofficially clocked my own body weight in grilled meat, 3 times I went up and still the diet buffet was empty. God was in the house again, though he went for pasta tonight. Must get a picture with Mr Omnipotence tomorrow.

 

Then it was ‘show time’. Because it’s a family hotel they put on a show every night at 10pm. Now the first 2 nights basically made me want to kill myself, so I ducked out of night 3. Tonight was ‘Beach Party’ on the beach and was actually very good. All professional dancers fire juggling, performance art, fire breathing, dancing to loud pumping music to a backdrop of mountains and full moon. It was a proper show and impressive.

 

However, the most impressive thing was the Scandinavian MC who started off the night by loudly proclaiming everyone to come down the stairs to the ‘Bitch Party’. He couldn’t pronounce Beach, so plumped for ‘Bitch’. I’ve never seen an all inclusive bar empty so quickly.

 

Sadly it was actually a beach party, but my wandered to what a ‘Bitch Party’ would look like. I’ll keep those thoughts to myself though, they are pretty wrong.

 

They then got all kids and adults up to do the conga and dance the Macarena etc. It was actually my vision of what hell looks like. An enforced fun that comes with family entertainment. Though I did observe behaviour in myself I don’t particularly care for and would like to change. It’s my in built cynicism and judgment.

 

I mean there were Palestinians and Lebanese blokes rushing around taking pics of their kids and wives, trying to dance and failing miserable. One was actually stunning in his complete inability for any basic rhythm. He looked like he was having a stroke.

 

But what I did was observe. Take the piss in my own head and judge. I mean OK it is actually a vision of hell. People are obsessed with taking pics constantly to ‘capture a moment’ whilst totally missing it because they have a camera stuffed in their hands, enforced fun is painful but so what. I was with a 10 year old; I should have been down there busting some shapes making a tit of myself.

 

I have come to the conclusion I too suffer from ‘locked in’ syndrome. I mean I can actually move my body but too often I’m locked in self trying to look cool, unable to cut loose from fear, image, whatever. It’s about time I took of the brakes and stopped worrying about making myself look an idiot, taking myself way too seriously and let go. What does it matter what people think? That’s not my business? It’s restricting and debilitating.

 

I mean come on Nick, should you really take yourself too seriously and be worried about people laughing or taking the piss of you when you have posed in your kegs doing poncy yoga with a massive quiff in red budgie smugglers in front of 12,000 Millwall fans at the Den? Good job they’re crap otherwise it would have been 20,000

 

It’s surely time to let go and cut loose. Obviously I’m delighted to have reached ‘Dickinson’ status but maybe that should be my other goal for the holiday?

 

Xx

Day 231 - Fri 31st Aug - Hol Blog Day 5

It’s the end of the month, transfer deadline day, Full moon, beginning of September and day 5 of the holiday. Fuck me, that's an awful lot of things in one day. There must be some kind of weird lunar spiritual axis going on. Maybe that's what happened in Jan 2011 when Liverpool FC spent £35 million on Andy Carrol. Maybe that's why I've been so out of character peaceful and mild. Something is clearly happening in the cosmos.

 

The moon was stunning last night and i can’t stop looking up at it and thinking of Neil Arsmstrong. It reminded me of a nice joke i read on Twitter yesterday, ‘Neil Armstrong kept on cracking bad jokes about the moon and when no-one laughed, he would say “you had to be there”’ It made me giggle.

 

The tan is coming on nicely. I’m basically Dickinson Light. Yesterday was whats known in the professional sunbathing fraternity as 'turning day', You've done all the hard work early doors getting a base tan, now it's time to cash in & crisp up nicely. A light mahogany/beige is what you are aiming for in order to launch yourself into a full Dickinson tomorrow and then essentially go the colour of a turd on days 7 and 8. I’ve got the goose fat from the buffet so we’re all set.

 

I did a cheeky little mountain run for 35 mins at 11am in extreme heat, i know it sounds insane but i really like it. Went a new way and it was totally stunning. I truly love it. Followed it with 5 hill sprints on the entrance drive to the hotel. The guards were looking at me like i was a total knob, thinking ‘what the hell are you doing that for?’ – To be fair i was thinking exactly the same though it makes me feel better. Sort of purifies me, flushes me out if that makes any sense? Like a healthy senekot.

 

Then it was down to a hard afternoon of laying on the sun lounger with a book about psychopaths. Nice chilled holiday reading, though i just couldn’t settle. Everything was all wrong with the lounger. The angle just wasn’t right. All the way up, or half down, so you lay down horizontally but at a slight tilt. Just couldn’t get comfortable, so i lay on the front but the loungers are at just an angle that it cricks your neck after 10 Min's.

 

I spent 2 hours fidgeting and trying to get the perfect angle, slowly getting more annoyed. Finally in a fit of temper i abandoned ship all together and lay on the floor. That was concrete though, so i soon abandoned that. I was having serious sunbathing rage, apparently it’s a common condition and one on the increase. Nothing was comfy so i went for an ocean swim in a huff. A good idea when looking out to sea, but not so good when in it. I swam half a mile out before realising i was totally knackered. Pride stopped me towing a lift from a passing pedalo full of large women and kids, so i slowly swam back looking more like a dog doing a front crawl.

 

I thought of all the heroes in the pool of the Paralympics. Of the guy with no arms competing, i thought of all the pride and courage and dedication and i’d like to say that spurred me on, inspired me to kick for shore, but i though ‘fuck that i bet they were elite athletes before i’m struggling here’. See even on holiday i’m still a selfish self obsessed ungrateful arsehole sometimes. I must be getting better. The insane fury's returned.

 

I finally hit shore, feeling like i just swum the channel, i looked back expecting to see the marker i’d reached to be way the distance, i was ready to congratulate myself on achieving such a monumental feat, but it seemed about as far away as the pool bar. Deflated and defeated i trod back to my uncomfortable sun lounger, which on closer inspection i discovered was broken, which was the reason it was at a weird angle all afternoon.

 

I could have discovered this earlier with a little patience and thought, but oh no, cunty bollocks here would rather make life well difficult for himself and create misery and anger for 3 hours than simply find a solution. Point is, no matter where i am or where i go in the world i always take me & my head with me. Sometimes me is just a total fucking div. But that's Ok.

 

The Rest of the day was spent trying to write material for my comedy night. Especially about turning 40 and the Olympic games. I struggled but got 1 decent joke out of the 2 hour session. It’s so hard for me to discipline myself and sit down and try to write, you just have to do it but King Procrastinator finds almost anything else to do rather than what i should be. Time for a change maybe?

 

We had a quick bite to eat in the buffet restaurant before going into Town, and we came across God getting stuck into the Kebab Grill. He had a massive white beard, like a sort of hippy Uncle Albert. I thought this hotel was good, but that just sealed it. It must be if God stays here.

 

I also noticed the diet buffet, a small, stand alone buffet segment, which was empty, naturally. In fact i’ve not seen anyone near it all week. It has really plain rice, chicken and fruit. I suppose anyone paying all inclusive is going to give that a massive swerve. It is conveniently placed in between the huge desert buffet and the grilled meat, pizza and chips section, all of which are packed out every day. Perhaps they are ticking a box, but it's not very appetising.

 

 

 

I'm not really sure why they have it though, i mean the food here is naturally grilled and BBQ'd meat, fish and the salads and veg are amazing. I'm doing Paleo (mostly meats, fish, vegetables and fresh ingredients) but that is mostly whats on offer here. Of course there is all the usual shit too, and I've noticed in ALL Inclusive most people go for double helpings of everything, basically eating around 6 platefuls and a double desert. Still good luck to them. I would certainly join them if i could.

 

The evening was spent doing the Turkish Bath thing (got to really havent you?), which after a hard day in the sun is excruciating. It's a bit Like getting rubbed down with sandpaper, though the foam and massage was groovy. Then it was a Turkish shave at the Barbers, where they burn the hairs in your ears and nose off – Now that i’m 40 i’m getting plenty of those. Weird, but why at a certain age does your hair decide to grow from places you really don’t want it too. I mean where the fuck is it coming from? Is it dormant for years before you wake up 40 and your body says ‘aha. I’m gunna fuck you up now and grow mutant hairs out of your ears, nose, back and join  your eyebrows so you look like a rapist’. Yuk.

 

Picking my nose is like rooting through a hamster cage and my bogeys are like furballs. Oh joy is this what i have to look forward to, now i rapidly head towards middle age? Nightmare.

 

I kept up with transfer deadline day, an odd day when it's reported minute by minute like it actually matters, but you are weirdly compelled. Will my team sign anyone? Who's leaving? Lots of fake rumours on Twitter and wall to wall coverage. I kept in touch on the beach and certainly didn't see any action. In the end Liverpool signed no-one and sold a few so all in all it was dull.

 

In fact that last sentence was dull. I don't know why i wrote it. It's because i didn't know how to end today's blog, which if I'm honest is a bit too long. Erase the last sentence from your mind. pretend it didn't happen. In fact i deeply apologise for wasting 12 seconds of your precious time. You could have spent it doing anything. Watching a repeat of the 100m final. Doing 10 press ups or quickly masturbating. I'm so sorry. I'VE LET MYSELF, MY FAMILY, THE WORLD OF FOOTBALL, THIS BLOG, TRANSFER DEADLINE DAY, SKYSPORTS, THE LOT down. I'm so sorry.

 

I'm off to admonish myself for such pointless sentences. I must learn. Keep it short. Keep it simple and end in a straight to the point way.

 

Bye

 

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