This Thursday sees the 7th anniversary of the day Jo gave her life away and we commenced our relationship. The Arsenal were the league champions then- imagine! You already know that we’re off to see Portishead, Grinderman, Swans and GY!BE next weekend in honour of this momentous event- I only realised this morning that Acoustic Ladyland will also be there. But, me being me, this wasn’t quite enough to celebrate such an occasion. Now, I knew that Dylan Moran was doing a couple of shows in Hammersmith over the weekend. But it was also a once close friend’s birthday yesterday, so I was waiting to see if he would arrange anything for it. By Friday lunchtime, it became obvious that he wasn’t going to and so I had a look for tickets; I should explain at this point that Jo loves Dylan Moran- this wasn’t some kind of punishment for the last seven years. Black Books is a big favourite in the house.
Long story short, there were tickets. And so we headed off towards Hammersmith, via Wagamama’s at Covent Garden. Despite the combined efforts of an ignorant taxi driver, the confusing District Line and a ridiculously lengthy stop on the Piccadilly Line at Baron’s Court, we made it to the Apollo in time for the gig, in time to see Simon Amstell disappear into the stalls. We had seats in the centre of the circle and so headed upstairs.
I’m not going to, you’ll be relieved to hear, break down the gig for you- too much was said and I couldn’t possibly do justice to Dylan’s delivery here. Here are five of the highlights:
People in Hull are so bored that the queue for the “suicide bridge” is five miles long.
Ed Milliband looks like a friend of Wallace and Gromit.
A Tory’s first instinct is to ask “can you fuck it or eat it”?
“Blairism” was the belief that if you stared into the face of God long and hard enough… eventually you’d shit money.
Liberalism was like being a vegan at a dinner party.
There was also a routine about how, in middle age, Moran has become addicted to the kind of brainless actioners generally starring Jason Statham. And how the closest Moran comes to living in these films is wheeling around the kitchen looking for a set of keys he already has in his hand. Scarily, I found that all too easy to relate too, but I’m guessing it’s not just me, right guys?
The only downer on the night was the fact that we were sat behind an absolutely wankered pair of Aussies who talked very loudly through large parts of the first half. Why would you do that? Why would you pay £30 each to go and watch a comedian, you know, talk and then decide that, actually, you’d rather talk amongst yourselves? Of course, at the interval, they then went off to get some beer- just what they needed. And carried on chatting, at least until the guy sitting next to them asked them to shut up. Which they did, or at least lowered their volume. Aussie girl then spent the rest of the show shooting this valiant soul evils. When she wasn’t slumping forward, passed out, that is.
I don’t get why people do it, never have, never will. Being a huge fan of Massive Attack, it’s almost taken as read that, wherever you stand at one of their gigs, you will be stood next to someone who will chat throughout the majority of the set. However, the second Teardrop or Unfinished Sympathy kicks in, they will say “Oh, I love this song!” and shut up for five minutes. And then they will continue ruining the night for anyone unlucky enough to be stood in their immediate vicinity. If this is you, then fuck off. Stay at home and put the cd on. Make some canapes if you like. Live shows are not a substitute for dinner parties. And, if you’ve paid £30 to go and see a comedian, then the chances are you’ve done that because you know he’s going to be funnier than you are.
So why would you need to talk over him?