I had never heard of or noticed Hammersmith Town Hall, even though I spend a fair amount of my time drinking coffee, eating sandwiches, looking round the shops and pretending to exercise. But tonight I would be performing there in a gig for Comic Relief with the likes of Lee Mack, John Maloney and Richie (now Richard) Blackwood. He's da man! But alas I cannot look at him any longer without thinking of him giving himself an enema on that Channel 5 programme. The enema went wrong and someone had to come in and help him. His poo got blocked in the tube. There are some things that shouldn't be shown on TV. Thank God I didn't agree to do a similar show for Channel 4 in the Himalayas last year. I was worried about meeting Richie "Richard" Blackwood and whether I would be able to resist a) saying "You're da man" and b) whether he would be able to see in my eyes that I was obviously thinking about him getting that enema. He probably would. He must recognise that look and only fail to see it if he happens to meet an eskimo or something who won't have seen it.
My sister and her husband and her eldest son (not the one who beat me at tennis, though I am sure he would be able to if we were ever to play as he is extremely sporty and fit and 21 years old) were down because my sister is running the Marathon tomorrow - attempting to beat the Herring family record of 4 hours 17 minutes and 50 seconds. She hasn't got a chance. OK, so she ran for the county when she was a teenager, but the Marathon is a different matter. Only the best of the best are allowed to join the sub 4 hour 18 minute club.
Anyway, I knew Hammersmith Town Hall was on King Street and I'd been told it was right up the other end from the tube station. We walked down and came out on to King St about half way along. "It's got to be to the right," I argued. "I know the street to the left and there is no town hall on there, plus the lady told me it was at the other end of King Street. This is the middle of King Street. There's no point in even looking that way. I am definitely right." But I had a little peer down the street to the left just in case there was a building I had forgotten. I couldn't see anything.
Once we'd got almost all the way to Chiswick High Road I began to allow the possibility that I had been mistaken to cross my mind. I popped into a newsagents to ask for directions. The newsagent himself looked confused by the idea of there being a Hammersmith Town Hall, even though he was on the same street as it, but one of the customers said, it's out to the left, about five minutes walk. We had been walking from that direction for about five minutes. I had to go out and admit to my family that I may have led us the wrong way. And anyone who thinks I deliberatly went took a wrong turn so that I would force my sister to walk an unnecessary couple of miles in order to tire he out, so that my Marathon record would remain intact, is clearly insane.
Hammersmith Town Hall was literally twenty yards from where we had come out on to King Street originally. It had lots of flags advertising the Hammersmith festival and banners saying "Comic Relief" hanging outside. I could see them clearly now. We were five minutes late for the start of the show, thanks to my stupidity, but I wasn't on til the second half and as is the way with these things it was running late, so no harm was done.
Even I always imagine that backstage at these things is going to be a big party with loads of comedians and various hangers on having a great time taking drugs and having sex, all in the name of charity. But the green room had one bloke sitting in it, whose job it was to get us to stage in time and some curling sandwiches and some celebration chocolates and a few drinks, including one can of diet coke, which I had. The host John Lenahan and the first act Felix Dexter were already back stage, but no-one else had arrived yet (perhaps on the wild goose chase I had encountered looking for the massive venue). I decided to go and watch the first half.
Hammersmith Town Hall is a bit echoey room, surrounded by endless Dr Whovian corridors. It looks like a school assembly hall and the acoustics were bad so it was difficult to make out what people were saying if you were at the back. But things went well. Richie "Richard" Blackwood closed the first half. I thought about him having an enema. Hopefully if I thought about it now I would forget about it later. Who was I kidding? The image of Richie "Richard" Blackwood having an enema would stay with me til my dying day. It would probably be the last thing I ever thought of. That and that film I've seen of someone doing a poo in someone else's mouth. That one is truly nasty. I hope Richie "Richard" Blackwood is never so desperate for public exposure that he ever considers doing that. And if he does that he is the pooer rather than the pooee.
When I got backstage for the interval the green room was still fairly quiet. Lee Mack was there, but about to head home after having done his bit and Blackwood was nowhere to be seen. He'd already been spirited away somewhere. When you are da man you are in demand (he should have put that line in the song, it's pretty good). I surmised that he has probably become addicted to enemas and was off giving himself one now. I suspect that he also always deliberately does it slightly wrong so that someone has to come in and help him sort it out. He makes me sick.
The gig went pretty well and I did not shame myself in front of my family. I decided to do stuff from "Talking Cock" rather than risk the yoghurt stuff (which I didn't really have time for). There was a 12 year old on the front row who I addressed most of the masturbation material to. The wrongness of this was rather amusing, though I once again voiced the fact that if I did this on the street I would be sent to prison, but saying it through amplification equipment in front of 700 witnesses and it's OK. It's an odd world we live in. Though the crowd had initially seemed a little prudish, by the end they were lapping up my cock stuff. All 700 of them. It was quite a sight to see.
I am sure my sister was very proud of me being disgusting in front of all these people in a town hall. Who am I to criticise someone for having an enema on TV?
I'll tell you who I am.
I am the man.
Well, I am one of the men.
Well, I am one of the male human beings.
Well, I am a human being.
And so on.
