Fist Of Fun

Today I finally received my incredibly well-travelled Fist Of Fun DVD: it had been posted from Wales to London before Christmas, then forwarded to Hong Kong, where it sat in the post office, unclaimed, for two weeks, then returned to London, then posted on to Singapore a month later when we got a permanent address. At this speed, it would have been quicker to construct a time machine and return to the 1990s.

I was a bit scared that we'd sit down to watch it and find it was insufferable juvenilia, but time has treated it well. Perhaps the ramshackle set and the violent editting have inoculated it against becoming too aged an artefact: or perhaps such genius as Simon Quinlank or Peter from Balham will never age.
My wife laughed too, which was impressive, because she's Canadian and couldn't hope to get references to Cheddar and people who are "not scared, only suspicious" of electricity. Well, she's from Nova Scotia, so I guess that's much the same thing.

I'd forgotten how much detail was packed into each episode: all the subliminal pictures and the pages of text stuffed up on screen too fast to be read. It was strange to see how much I remembered, and all that I'd regurgitated during my days making a mess of the student newspaper. Great stuff, and well worth waiting most of two decades for.

Later this evening, we went for a walk around the Marina Bay to look at the different light installations: the fully illuminated Merlion, the cargo containers full of creepy music, and the exceptionally clever piece where there appeared to be enormous dinosaurs swimming under the surface of the Marina, via a clever bit of projection trickery. If I hadn't been knackered from my run this morning, I wouldn't be whimpering in pain now...

Now to watch a bit more Fist of Fun, and hope that inspires me to write some more stand-up this week.