Sunday, 25 February 2007

Two amazing things happened yesterday. For the first time since about 1994, I didn’t switch the computer on all day! Not even to check e-mails. Although there are lots of benefits to working from home, leaving work is very difficult. Especially as I’m trying to get Maverick going again and rapidly running out of dosh! The temptation is always to go back to the computer and do a bit more. But today I didn’t. Instead I went with John, my spiritual father in law, and saw Moseley rugby club get beaten by Leeds Tykes. Now, I’m not much of a rugger bugger, but Moseley are now on the common by my old council estate and I love the idea of a traditional ‘old wealthy’ game being played in a council estate.

Then, another unique experience. I went and saw Ken Dodd at Dudley. A mate of mine, Brian, kindly booked a bunch of tickets so I thought I’d give it a go. A living legend is Doddy and some of his surrealism feels very contemporary for an old chap. But nobody warned us – although I’d heard the rumours – about the ‘longevity’ not just of his reputation, but of the show itself. Curtain up was 7.30pm. The interval finally came, much to the relief of a hot, thirsty and numb bummed audience nearly three hours later at 10.20pm!

As we fled to the door for some fresh air the doorman remarked,

“Keep your tickets if you want to come back. Although a lot of people didn’t last night.’

I wasn’t altogether surprised. The chairs were not that comfortable and I’d actually thought about not returning myself.

“What time did he finish last night?” I enquired.

The doorman shuffled a bit and looked vaguely embarrassed.

“Well…about… well… it was about one o’clock”

1AM! I was pleased to have seen the living legend and he truly is a great man and a fine comic, but it was time for the pub.

We alighted at the nearest hostelry which was ancient and attractive on the outside, but young, loud and louche on the inside.

As we dodged the occasional flying snooker cue and struggled to be heard above the bass beats and more frequent foul mouthed, mainly female obscenities, Steve, a writer mate of mine, summed up the whole Ken Dodd Laughter Show -or at least the first half - which included a musical interlude by a portly attractive young musician backed by Kens band, a keyboardist and rather bored drummer who bore an uncanny resemblance to John Prescott.

“It was like waking up at Butlins”, said Steve, “in 1955.”