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June 13
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I spend more time than is healthy on aeroplanes. We comedians tend to spend a fair amount of time in the air going from gig to gig. That's probably why a lot of comics, myself included, have material about the perils of air travel so I'm loathe to spend time blogging about it as well but there's an issue I want to get off my chest. It's regarding a certain low cost airline from Ireland. Let's call them Ryanair. I've never liked this company. While other budget airlines like easyjet and bmi baby are cheap and cheerful, Ryanair seems to be just plain mean. Obviously there are loads of things I could bang on about, the selling of scratchcards, no seat pockets, tiny baggage allowance, selling Stansted Express tickets even when they know the last train has gone, but what genuinely mystifies me is their policy of making you all sit squashed in together. I don't mean when the plane is full, either. I'm talking about when there are six empty seats and they don't let you sit in them. Where did this policy of cordoning off rows come from? Time and time again I've got on a plane in Stansted to be met with the greeting, "Any seat after the first two rows." Why? Do we not seem enough like cattle without you cordoning off areas of our flying shed? Is it just easier to sell us shit if we're all sat together?
I was returning from the comedy festival in Kilkenny a little over a week ago. I live quite near Stansted Airport so that's where I fly to. Unfortunately, Ryanair are the only airline that fly Dublin/ Stansted so that's who I travel with. Myself and my betrothed got on the flight to be told "Sit any where after row 6", we dutifully walked past rows 1 to 6 all with their tray tables down to remind us of their out-of-bounds nature. The only people sitting near the front were an elderly couple in row 2 who clearly were given special dispensation for being infirm. Either that or they were just faking it in order to get some space, the wily old foxes! After row 6 the plane was packed and myself and my other half searched in vain for 2 seats together. I know it's only an hour and we have the rest of our lives to spend in each other's company but still, it's nice to sit together. We walk down the plane unable to find any seats other than middle seats until we get to the back where we find the back 6 rows are also cordoned off. A flight attendant with a rictus grin plastered onto his face guards the way like an incredibly camp bouncer. Tired and hungover from a long weekend of being at an Irish comedy festival I ask if we can sit together in one of the forbidden rows. I am told, "No". Why not? I ask and another passenger quips, "Because it's Ryanair". The smile on the attendant falters and then becomes a bit more, how shall I put it, smart-arsed. He says, "No, it's not a Ryanair rule it's the Irish Aviation Authority rule." Now, I love an argument. Particularly when I sense that there's bullshit afoot so I point out that Aer Lingus and British Midland don't have this policy of squashing people into the centre of the plane so are they breaking this law of Aerospatial symmetry. I am met with a shrug. "There's no reason why we can't sit there, is there?" I say.
"The plane has to be balanced", I'm told. I then point out that there are two people in row 2. He says they are there for medical reasons.
I tell him I understand that but point out that surely if the plane is to be balanced, two people need to sit 2 rows from the back and I volunteer myself and my girlfriend for counterbalance duty. I am told firmly to sit down in one of the middle seats. And that is where the discussion ends because in a post 9/11 world whatever the flight attendant says, goes. And if you disobey, you're not just an arsey customer anymore, you're a threat to National Security.
The terrorists have won
Visit Ed's site
now!
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| May 29 
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Anorak? Me? Nope! I LOVE sitting on my own! (Not.....) Whens the next train??
what happens when the kid's playground is shut?
It was the fifth day he had been trapped in the barrel, and he was beginning to lose hope.
Next time I must remeber to invite freind
His mates were less than impressed when he unveiled his new sauna.
oh no...I'm scrapping the bottom of the barrel AGAIN!!
Ohh x I Guess Shes Not Comming
The barman didn't know it yet, but Ted was actualy dead.
I always feel so stupid when me and the invisible man go for a drink.
Find out your girls a guy?
labour's new leadership tacktics to win over young punters
Man created the wheel, so why can't he create the bottle opener?
whats the difference between gingers and bricks?........Bricks get laid!!!
It was too late for Nigel to realise he'd slipped the 'date-rape' drug into his own beer by mistake
I wish I hadn't rubbed that magic lamp.
Wow, so this is socializing huh... I think I'll just go back to World of Warcraft...
'Must resist peeling the lable off'
| | May 25
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So, I'm touring around New Zealand and my support act, the very funny Paul Ego, receives the following e-mail. I thought it was so good I would reproduce it as my blog. I'm not being lazy. I just want you to see the sort of things people send comedians. Now, you tell me: Is this guy crazy or is he a comedy genius?
Dear Paul,
forgive this unsolicited approach, but since Ed Byrne doesn't appear to be famous enough to have his own email address and you are touring with him at the moment, I wonder if you would be kind enough to pass this missive along to him. Thank you, Chris McCarrey.
Dear Ed,
I saw you on telly the other night and thought your act was hilarious. I also thought it was a touch on the short side. I am coming to your show in Hastings next week and am a little concerned that the Hawkes Bay public may not find your set full value for money no matter how funny Paul Ego is ( no offence, Paul ). I have taken the liberty of writing a couple of gags which you can use to pad out the show; "Here's an interesting fact," you begin, " did you know that if you drew a straight line from Auckland to Hastings," ( namecheck, always goes down well with the locals ) [ pause ] " you'd get a very sore back? " You could do a little visual stuff at this point and bend over as if drawing a line and then stand up and rub your back while wincing and mugging a little. Alternatively you could use this one; " My son came running in from the garden this morning, crying. "What's the matter, son?" I asked him. "A wasp stung me on the ear." he sobbed. "Oh dear, which one?" I enquired. "What do you mean, 'Which one?' It was a f***ing wasp. They all look the f***ing same." Forgive my use of the F-word, but since you used it the other night on the telly, I didn't think you'd mind too much.
Now the awkward bit. The first joke costs $15.00 and the second one is $10.00. I know that the first one is shorter, but it is approximately 65% funnier than the wasp gag which is more likely to elicit a good natured groan than a laugh. I'm a bit loathe to suggest a discount, however, I would be willing to let them both go, as a pair, for... let's say, $23.00.
Good luck with the show. Yours in comedy,
Chris McCarrey.
P.S. I wouldn't mind if you were to change "wasp" to "bee" if you thought that it was funnier.
Visit Ed's site now!
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| May 02 Not the undulating,
azure coasts of the Mediterranean, the evening
sun smothering the shoulders of the chattering natives with heady russets and
gold as they dine al fresco on the shore. Not at all. I am a fan of the great
British seaside. The strip lighting from the local bingo hall glistening off
the rainslicked macks of the be-tracksuited mothers as they clap a child round
the back off the head and cry out “Kevin, get your arse back ‘ere now”. The
amusement arcades, the bandstands, there’s something perverted about my love, something
masochistic about giving Blackpool another go and about giving Great Yarmouth
the benefit of the doubt a third or fourth time.
As global warming steps on the
accelerator of summer, speeding it up like a giant gleaming National Express
coach to our doorstep, bypassing spring so that we don’t quite know what to do
with ourselves, I once more plan my coastal odyssey. There’s something
reassuring about these places: the grey of the sky throwing into remarkable relief
the grey of the sea; the development, from coastal town to coastal town, of the
seagull evolving to pterodactyl reflecting the success of each town’s recycling
system. Aah, the seaside. I stride purposefully down the prom, prom, prom in
shorts and t-shirt regardless of adverse weather conditions and buy one of
those hats, you know the ones. The cap with the ponytail attached to it. I
already have a ponytail which I grew myself, I just enjoy the brush of
polyester against my skin, particularly if there is some sun tan lotion for it
to stick to. I gaze in wonder at the racks of rock, entire words seeping
through hardened candy, your Sharons
and your Darrens, entire words spun through sugar.
Truly these are the lands
where dreams are made and then smashed to pieces then replaced by bigger,
shinier dreams with fake breasts attached. A land where some words have more
power and can create more havoc than anywhere inland. I experiment just for
fun. I know my game. Just when some barrel-bellied dad has persuaded his kid to
let him have a go of the lilo I wait. He’s settling down, he’s balanced like a
cat, praying for no sudden gust of wind. Then I strike: “Jellyfish! Jelly.
Fish!”. I don’t know what is more hilarious, the dad spinning arse over tit or
his child crying. I bloody love the seaside.
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