By Blogger Lokimee – Gagging For It – April 17th, 2011

      Last night was not a night to be out and about – even ducks would have been thinking, “Cheesus Mate, turn off the freakin’ water, already!” The heavens opened and and threw out the mucky bath water on those of us attempting to get to the Enmore without falling into any puddles and drowning.

      I hate to think of what the punters at The Factory were going through during the deluge. Luckily the Enmore is a fully functioning venue with sturdy walls and flushing toilets, so it was quite able to keep us all warm and dry… though one teeny tiny ticket office outside, meant to cater for the crowd gathered for two sold out shows seemed a bit… well, under dimensioned comes to mind.

      That said, drenched clothing be damned, the Big Man and I were determined to have a good night – and we did! Both Greg Proops and Ardal O’Hanlon were exactly what was expected: fabulously funny, indubitably intelligent, creatively cutting, and wonderfully wicked. Jobs well done.

      We JUST made it to the Performance eau Proop in time – note the teeny tiny ticket office again – so we ended up waaaaay in the back of the auditorium. But no matter, Greg played it big. Even though he spends a great deal of time in a TV studio, this guy knows how to work a room – the whole room, not just the first couple of rows. Greg-o, you rocked the house-o!

      I love a man who can amuse himself with his hands above the table

      Luckily, there was only an hour wait for the Ardal O’Hanlon show to get going – and the heavens had decided to stop pishing on the punters.

      Question: Why does the Enmore need only one hour to set up between these two huge headliners, and it take The Factory two hours to sweep out the spiders between shows… (and do you think I’m becoming just slightly obsessed by this ‘inside mess with the outside toilets’)?

      In that hour we popped down to The Blue Fig, which is only a few doors away from the Enmore. I’m always a bit confused when venues let money walk out of the door between shows. You’ve got a bar. Why not keep your punters on the premises with the promise of a drink or two in the foyer? Ah well… the Big Man and I took our money down the road, and had a swell bottle of NZ plonk off their decent wine list. The Blue Fig isn’t fancy, but people don’t come to Newtown for fancy, they come for the equivalent of a kebab after the bar.

      We got back to the Enmore, and were met with a really pleasant surprise… we had some great seats! Not close enough to the front to be fooder, but close enough (mid-stalls for you luvvies out there) to really see Ardal – without having to use the zoom on my camera. Wahey!

      How does this invaluable Irishman manages to be so delightfully droll without needing to seek out victims of his verbal verisimilitude – call it comedy of the kinder kind. You can also call it feckin’ funny in my book. Finally got the Big Man guffawing again – which must have been pleasant for the people sitting around us. Uh… yeah.

      A Roll On A Hand says anagrams never lie… but do they need a tissue after?

      So what did I learn last night?

      That I’m standing on the shoulders of comedy giants.

      That I’m not alone in wanting to tell nazi-non-smokers… I’ll trade you my cigarette for your car keys… that way we’ll both be giving up something which pollutes the atmosphere. (And hey, I’m a non-smoker myself now, but the self righteous crowd just gives me the shiteous shudders.)

      Greg snorts, so, as I noted in my first missive, I am NOT the only person with a weird laugh. Again, as predicted, masturbation is probably going to show up in every show this month.

      I’m not alone in having no interest in follow the blogs of tweens who believe that their every thought is of any relevance whatsoever – let alone any interest. And no you can’t get a shout out for Friday. I don’t care if you’re only 13, Rebecca. If you’re not old enough to get a drink on a Friday, Friday, Friday I’m really not interested.

      That said, this six year old getting a TSA Pat Down may actually have something to blog about… and a possible reason for counseling in years to come.

      I love intelligence. Yep, that’s right, I’ve got a thing for people who read. I’ve got it bad for people who write – and I’m not talking 140 characters. Give me someone with a good vocabulary and you’ll have to peel me off their every word.

      The turn down service is not an upfront guy telling you, “I’m just not that into you.”

      Anyone can be mean, very few can be fiercely funny.

      DIY terminology can be sexy – you stud.

      In the light of day, I’m finding it more and more difficult to read what I write in the dark.

Back To The Articles Archive