I got into a Twitter conversation with Kettle Crisps today, about whether they are called Kettle Crisps or Kettle Chips. As you may remember David Mitchell erroneously argued the latter on one of our podcasts together. They are definitely crisps.
Kettle waded in when someone mentioned them and me and said that they were called Kettle Chips. I told them they were wrong. And they dared to argue with me about it, as if they would know better than me. They asked me when I’d last enjoyed a packet of their crisps (not chips) and I said I’d had one yesterday but last enjoyed them about a decade ago before they changed or I changed.
But someone else dug out their entry from Companies House and what do you know, when they first started up in the UK they were called Kettle Crisps. I rest my case, your honour.
And we all recall that brief period in 1988 when they renamed themselves Intercede 539s. Happy days.
I felt a bit better today and the sun was shining and the drive from Warrington (where I was staying) down to Leicester was quite enjoyable. This is like my happy memories of touring alone, traversing the beautiful British countryside and singing along to Radio 2.
The day was punctuated by having to write and perfect my 8 minute set for Matt Forde’s Unspun on Sunday. It has to be a political routine and though I have a bit of stuff that fits that bill I wanted to at least write some new stuff.
I sat in my hotel room working until 11 and then got on my way, stopping off a couple of times to do another hour of work. I rolled into Leicester at about 4. The show was not going to be another sell out, but there were over 150 tickets sales, which isn’t bad for a city that doesn’t seem to take me to heart however many times I come and visit them. In nearby Nottingham I can sometimes get over 500 in. I wish I understood what it is that makes me popular in one place and less popular 20 or so miles away.
It turned out the gig was being run by the guy who works at the Wolves Civic, another city that I visit annually but where my audience has weirdly diminished over the years. He must just think I am a struggling failure of a comedian, making my sad way round the country in my twilight years. But he is wrong. I sold out
But I was playing the O2, which looked impressive to people who don’t know Leicester. It’s a decent size venue, but the roof is high and the audience is far away and genuinely behind barriers today. The venue has a strict though slightly ambiguous policy of not allowing patrons to bring in bags bigger than a small handbag. How big is a small handbag? I joked on stage that this was put into force by me, so that if they discovered the skellington of a king from a different city then they wouldn’t be able to steal it.
I also got to try out my set for the Matt Forde show, which was very helpful. It came in at 7mins 30 which wasn’t bad given I had just judged it to be the right length and it went down pretty well. It’s pretty nerve wracking to do stand up on TV for the first time. so was glad to get a little dress rehearsal.
I was weary and a bit ill again by the time I had to drive home. Luckily home is now closer to Leicester than it used to be, but it’s tough that the last 15 minutes is all down dark and windy narrow country lanes. I got home and had some brandy and briefly saw my tired wife before she went to bed.
But good to know I have options, as an email arrived from Regina Smith saying "Hi, This is Regine Smith from the dating site, where do u exactly live for me to know if we are really near? :)”
That was pretty exciting for me as an older man, especially as I am not on any dating sites. But love will find away. Sadly I can see from the plugs that Regina has in her house that she doesn’t live near enough for me to start an affair with her. Sadly for Regina I am so old I noticed her plug sockets first. But then if I am going to have an affair it will be with someone who needs to be charged up every now and again. And so me and Regina are not compatible.
I have tried to let her down gently. You can't blame a girl for trying.