Saturday, February 27, 2010

Waking from a dream

I don't often dream, or if I do, I don't remember my dreams. This morning I have a vague recollection of trying to persaude a woman to hit me in the mouth. That doesn't mean I'm a masochist. Anyone who says I am can hit me as hard as they like and see if I complain.

Perhaps that wasn't as well thought as it needed to be.

Spring has come to Hong Kong. Well, it's back to 25 degrees, and the ever-present humidity that etched the cold into your bones when it was only 12 degrees out has transformed into the inescapable stickiness of the SAR, and will be so for another eight months or so. Lovely. Before long, the air conditioner will be running all night, and half the evening I'll be shivering with cold, and the other half melting into the sofa.

Because of the heat, I woke up today exhausted and dying to go back to sleep. No, it wasn't anything to do with wanting to return to a dream where women beat me up. Anyone who says it was can punch me in the face and ... Well, let's see if repetition is the basis of all comedy, shall we?

Last night there were almost more comedians than audience: luckily a newspaper crew from Guangzhou had come down to see what an empty basement a thriving comedy club looks like, so that made up the numbers. I hosted, and although the crowd were dispersed around the room, managed to keep the energy up for the show. I closed with the joke that I posted last night after I got in - it had the best reception of the night. Well, as good as you can get from 11 paying audience members, including somebody shouting "yeah! That's so true!". Always nice to get instant confirmation.

Well, not always. There was a heckler a few months ago, who just agreed vocally with everything anybody said. How do you deal with that?

I got a few heckles, principally from the mother of Connor, our 14 year-old comedian. She interrupted my spiel about the Swiss to claim that they invented Ovaltine. I found this difficult to deal with - I should have pointed out that this was ridiculous. If the Swiss have been busy inventing cuckoo clocks and swiss army knives and toblerone and hiding Nazi gold, when would they have had time for bedtime drinks? But that's a retort gifted to me by a night's sleep and listening to Hayseed Dixie covering Will The Circle Be Unbroken?, so it's no help now.

But next time there's an Ovaltine-based heckle, I'll be prepared.

For preparation, I also need to memorise my alphabetical list of shoes. I only made it to 'P' last night, but even that seemed to astonish the audience. Everyone likes lists of things in alphabetical order, whether they're Albanians, Belgians, Canadians, or the Danish. I should stop there, before I think of anything to do with Estonians.

And besides, I have to get back to being punched in the mouth by sexy ladies. I love that so much.



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