A day to kill in Stratford-Upon-Avon. I'm really not afraid to kill the odd Friday. It will always plead with me, "Oh Adrian, please don't kill me. I've so much to offer the world. So much to give." But, as always, I'll hear him out and mull over the plea for a few seconds, whilst rolling chewing gum round my mouth, before delivering a deadly karate chop to the weak spot in his windpipe.
So, what to do? Stratford-Upon-Avon is steeped in history as the birthplace of one very special man - Avon from Blake's 7. I'm joculating of course. He was actually born in Surrey. I mean, of course, William Shakespeare - the man who invented plays and words like 'doth' and 'resembleth'.
There's plenty to see of him around the town. His house. His mum's house. His favourite tree. His Great Aunty's fossil collection. His nephews pet tortoise (still alive and residing in a granny flat overlooking the river). Thing is, it's half-term and as such there's quite a bit of hustle and bustle. The unpleasant aura of sulky children who wished they'd been taken to Alton Towers instead. I need to take solace. Get some peace and quiet. Harmony.
So instead of hanging out in one of Shakespeares old haunts I go where no sulky child will venture - the tobacconists. Here I purvey the strange antiquated parafinalia and, of course, the charming plethora of flavoured tobaccos - vanilla, coconut, cinnamon, toffee, cumquat, Ovaltine, Guinea Fowl, Berocca...
A middle-aged lady walks in and briskly orders 20 Silk Cut. This makes me chuckle. All that choice at her yellow fingertips and she goes for 20 Silk Cut? She's served by a young gentleman barely old enough to smoke himself. I must say, I did expect the proprietor to be a spectacled 60 year old gent, weasel-like with a moving front tooth and plenty of nasal hair dressed in an old-fashioned yet natty suit.
After milling about in there for quite a long time, including a phone call to Jason King and a little daydream about being seven once again and not knowing what sex means, I thought I should purchase 250 grams of vanilla shag and make an exit.
I will probably be berated for visiting Stratford-Upon-Avon and spending my time here in a tobacconist. But these places will probably become a thing of the past well before Shakespeare's tourist spots pop their clogs.
What kind of person chooses to sit on the front row at a comedy stand-up night? How can you sit comfortably when you are right in the comedian's firing line and a hot favourite to be 'volunteered' onto the stage. The horror of being forced into the limelight, not knowing what to do with your arms and hands as the comedian makes a fool of you and conjures up droplets of perspire from your brow and pits.
Even if you are on an aisle seat you can't rest easy and will still feel on edge (2 levels).
Some 21st century philosophers have argued that the back row is the safest place to be, however I vehemently disagree. The comedian can be savvy to this and may try to surprise his audience by plucking from the back row instead of the front.
It is of my opinion that the safest place to sit is three rows from the back, slightly left of central. Preferably in between a wolf and a huge Neo-Nazi, unless of course the comedian is looking for a wolf, a huge Neo-Nazi and one other person for his act.
If you are unfortunate enough to be picked you are in a lose lose situation. Firstly there's the aforementioned problem of what to do with your arms and hands and then there's the 'How do I play this?' issue to confront.
If you play it too cool and even make your own wise cracks the audience will deem you cocky and arrogant. They won't like you. So instead you have no option but to play it straight and just be a puppet - a thing of ridicule - a reluctant tortured prop. Yes, you'll get a round of applause at the end of it all but so does the BBC's National Lottery programme - it means nothing.
Tried my hand at mixing today. No, not cement, watercolours or matosis. I mean mixing music. Beats'n'tunes man, beats'n'tunes.
I say 'I' tried but actually it was my music-compiling alter ego DJ Clownface. I had begun doing it myself but Clownface had called me from the Co-op with news of a half price deal on tins of Quality Street and when he caught hold that I was attempting to do some mixing, well, within five minutes he was back home and kicking me out of the driving seat, seamlessly merging The KLF into Haircut 100.
I have to say he was very good at it all. In one mix he actually cut a part out of one song and placed it on top and towards the end of the preceding tune. Genius! It means that when you listen to the whole mix you get a sneak preview of what track's coming next, a good two minutes before it actually starts!
If you want to try this technique at home I recommend you use the 'Just what is it that you want to do?' spoken bit from the beginning of Primal Scream's 'Loaded'. Slice this out and place it before the end of the preceding track. Possibly even twice before 'Loaded' actually starts. If you repeat it more than twice it will be DJ overkill. The equivalent of sending a Mother's Day to every mother you know or feeding five medium-sized ducks bread crusts non-stop for 12 hours.
1) The Sandreg Game
The object is to make an 'edible' sandwich out of the last three letters of registration plates.
Take it in turns and wait until a registration plate comes into view. Once you have identified the last three letters you have fifteen seconds to come up with each ingredient.
Therefore EGB could be Egg, Gherkin and Beetroot. Gets tricky when you get something like XJW.
2) Pub Cricket
Again take it in turns. When you pass by a pub you score one run for every 'leg' featured in the pub's name. i.e The Bull would score you four runs. So if on your turn you passed The Crab & Centipede you'll be laughing. The Amoeba & Snake, not so good.
3) The iGod Game
Attach a 21st century iPod to your car stereo. Turn on shuffle. When a song begins you must pull over and scream out the first page of the New Testament over the top of it. This is great fun but be warned - it can add a good couple of hours onto your journey time.
4) The Itching Game
On an A4 piece of paper write in large letters HAVE YOU GOT AN ITCH? Take it in turns to hold this up to other drivers and passengers in slow moving traffic. If anyone responds by writing YES on a piece of paper and holding it up then you score a point. You don't score double points if you encounter the same car in the slow-moving traffic unless they hold up a new piece of paper up on which they've written YES - I STILL HAVE AN ITCH, THANKS FOR ASKING AGAIN.
5) Cornish Liar
When you enter Devon pretend Devon is Cornwall and all say in unison "My, that took a lot quicker than last time." No one wins this game but it's still great fun to play.
If you already live in Cornwall or are driving somewhere else other than Cornwall then sorry, but you are prohibited from playing these five games.
