Podcast Disaster!
Collings came over at lunchtime to record our 12th podcast. We had a lot of fun talking about Ant and Dec's bogus award, how Hitler wasn't all that bad really when you think about it, possible uses for the free Gladiators foam hands that the Sun were giving away (much too late to be of any use to anyone as you have to post off for them and the show starts at the weekend) how I am very nice and friendly in real life and anyone who doesn't think I am can "Fuck Off!!" (this bit had Collings unable to continue due to laughter), a look through our teenage diaries, how the Bullingdon club twats at Oxford insisted that their members vomit at the dinner table and a great joke that I wished I'd thought of for last week's chat about "What happens under Vegas, stays under Vegas," which Andrew nicked off me and I berated him for. I managed to reincorporate it later when I was talking about the charidy work that I don't like to talk about and how despite all the charidy work I do how people see me as worse than a paedophile, worse than Heather Mills, worse than Hitler and even under Johnny Vegas. I then revealed that I planned to emulate my teenage self and spend the rest of the afternoon wanking to whatever was on TV, but only when beautiful women were on, realising this might be a problem as "Murder She Wrote" was on at the moment and no offence to Angela Lansbury, but she's no Wee Jimmy Krankie. The least old women can do to make up for their wrinkles and faded beauty is to dress up as a schoolboy. There's not a man in the world who wouldn't want that.
It was a good end to what had, if I am honest, not been one of our finest 50 minutes, but which nonetheless contained plenty of funny moments. We were recording on Andrew's computer because he thinks we get a better sound quality off that one, but as he did his stuff and started saving the rambling conversation, Garage Band froze. We'd had a dicey moment at the end of last week's recording, when the graphics went a bit wild and lots of it temporarily disappeared, but this time the whole thing had stopped. We hoped that by quitting Garage Band and then starting it up again that the computer would give us the option of reverting to where we had left off. But apparently not. Podcast 12 had disappeared into the ether and had in fact been merely a conversation in an attic that would never be heard by anyone apart from the two giggling participants.
I took the news with some stoicism. I think if it had been last week's podcast I would have been a lot more disappointed, but it was still slightly galling, because today's chat had been far from being rubbish (though I'd been tired and hadn't managed to hit my stride til near the end). Collings had to take his terrifying face off to Brighton, so we couldn't have another go at it, though I think that would have been weird anyway as we would no doubt have tried to recapture the magic, like Bill Murray making snowmen in Groundhog Day, and it would all have come out wrong. Podcast 12 was lost, never to be heard again. But never fear my friends, as we are reconvening on Tuesday to do a new Podcast 12a and we'll still do number 13 on Friday. I think we'll record it on both computers this time, for safety. It's a shame to lose a whole podcast, but as it always just feels like a chat with a slightly amusing colleague, so maybe it's not such a disaster that this one turned out to be exactly that. I just went out for a coffee and read more of my teenage diary and tried to forget about it.
STOP PRESS - Miraculously following the advice of one of his many internet disciples - Andrew Collings has managed to recover the file and it's up in it's (tribute to Gaunty there)
usual place. So you can decide if it would have been better lost or found. I think this resurrection proves that we are both Jesus.
