Malevolence

Today the most exciting thing that happened to me was falling out with, then making up with, Mr Chris Addison on Twitter (he referred to something I said as being a 'bit shitty', and to be honest with 140 characters to make a point he, well, had a point). All cleared up, though it didn't result in free tickets to his show, which in fairness would have been a rather extraordinary end to an exchange on the cost of his tickets compared to those of Richard Herring. So much so that I'm still swithering on the Addison tickets (dammit I really really want to see him live) whereas we'll be seeing the Herring on Friday night.

Actually, I'm going to say it's the second most exciting thing. Sir Norman Foster's 'people' like what they see of the Ride Journal (the cycle mag in which I had an article in the last issue) and were chasing me up for questions to be posed to him for an interview piece in the next issue.

Anyway, the point of the picture and the title? Well it's been a week and a half since I spouted off about Naomi Campbell at the War Crimes Tribunal, and was thereafter pulled up on charges of elitism. Probably fair when read as a standalone item, but I've got history, and I've explained numerous times that there's a cathartic point to the rage. Since that fateful Friday I've simply snapped away at a few beasties, and wondered where to direct life's frustrations. I even set up a blog name, the rather descriptively eloquent Cathartic Sock Wank, a title to encompass the fun and relaxing but ultimately fruitless nature of the mind-dumps I indulge in.

Then thought, feck it, not long ago I was saying that's what was great about being here - I can just use it as a release, and so I'm going to continue to do so, and will no longer seek to justify or explain. It's not serious, and I know that, and that's enough. Those comics who are performing at the Fringe just now like Addison or Herring or any number other, so much of their acts are based around barely concealed malevolence and outrage. We don't question whether they're happy in life, or if they need to calm down. We laugh. Now I'm not suggesting I'm funny like them (though to raise a titter every now and then would be nice) and maybe the forum of a lit stage and microphone is more suited to this kind of thing. But this is what I have - a desire to write, to get stuff out of my head and onto the page and screen, and you're damn well going to suffer it with me.

Unless you unsubscribe.

Or stopped reading after the second paragraph cos you were bored. But that top makes you look fat. And you'll never know I said that because you didn't read this bit. Hah!

I'm baaaa-aaaack!

p.s. but seriously. £17.50 for Chris Addison, should I just buy the tickets?