The other night I was booked to compere a banquet at the Stadium of Light, on the eve of the Sunderland Middlesbrough match. It was a quality line up and a great evening. My job was to perform my stage set of comedy and magic, and then to interview the players and ex-players of Sunderland and Middlesbrough. Oh yes, this is why I got out of real work.

Usually, and you may have noticed, I don’t make a special reference about famous people in my blog; hey, we are all equal, just because you are on TV doesn’t make you any different. I don’t bother to put photos of celebrities on my blog. The reason I don’t, is, I am not sure what it says about me as a person. Am I wanting to have fame by association? Am I somehow a better entertainer because celebrities book me for their functions? They are rhetorical questions by the way, but feel free to have a guess.

Well when the celebrity is a really great human being like Niall Quinn I feel honoured to have spent time in his company, hence the photo above (even if I do look like Niall’s ventriloquist dummy).

As I mentioned in a recent blog, the brain has its’ own agenda on what it cares to remember, and what it will drip feed back to you immediately you put the phone down on a call that required an immediate answer.

Listing that Sunderland team, strangely enough, has brought back memories of how quite appalling, yet incredibly exciting, the football terraces were in the 1960’s.  As a youngster I would have to get to the ground two hours before kick off to get prime spot.  Prime spot was, of course, just in front of the crash barrier, half way up the Roker End (never behind the crash barrier, unless you were the undisputed “pile on” champion of the world).

I also had to arrive completely dehydrated, as once 52,000 people had filled the ground, the chances of toilet visits and safe returns were patchy (not the only thing patchy).  Some fans, who hadn’t planned as well as me, also avoided the toilet visit by rolling up a newspaper and using it as a personal funnel; yes, not the best day for your new suede Hush Puppies.  I was ok in the early days, as I was standing on a cracket *,  I am not sure my dad was as lucky with “the rivers of wee” (a lesser known speech by Enoch Powell).

I was hooked on live football those days.  I couldn’t get enough.  As soon as I was at the correct height for my cracket to allow me a clear view, I was starting to go to games with my friends.  We even went to away games (not Leeds or Millwall we weren’t mental).  We used to get lifts to away games from people we didn’t even know.  There was no cosseted parental behaviour in those days; we even had to ask them if they had any sweets.  They were innocent times, no puppies to see, we were off to the match.

My last full year of watching Sunderland was 1973.  I have been back, but never as regularly as that Cup winning year.  You wouldn’t have read this blog to this point if you did not know the outcome of the Sunderland Leeds game of 1973, so you will remember that little old Sunderland beat the mighty Leeds.  Leeds in the early 70’s were the best and yet most hated football team in the land.  They were a very good but also very dirty team (nothing to do with hotels and girls, innocent times remember).  Their reputation was not helped by Norman “bites your legs” Hunter (parents were very imaginative with middle names in those days). 

My brother (my hero) was at college and bet his whole football team, individually, that Sunderland would beat Leeds.  How clever was he?  Not that clever really, as they were all even bets, and clearly he would have done far better at the bookies, and he did crash my motorbike and then chose not to tell me, as I later found out about it.  No really!  Where are these thoughts coming from?

* Cracket: a Geordie word for a small miner’s stool, which would elevate a four foot two boy to the dizzy height of five foot five at a football match; annoyingly though, it was just short of an unobstructed view).

Just looking back at that last blog, it is easy to see what can be done when we are motivated.  For example: I am still enjoying performing both close up magic and stage comedy and magic.  After years of working on my close up act, I can now just grab my bag and rush off to a gig, however, for a stage performance there is a lot of prep.

On the day of a stage gig, I like to get centred for about 2 hours before I set off.  These days, I don’t hold a hair brush to my mouth (microphone style) and pace around the hotel room.  However, I will see if I can list out, on a piece of paper, my running order for the evening.  And if I can’t remember the running order, I make sure I can remember it, by the time I go on stage.

 If I am performing at a company dinner and I need to write in some industry jokes, I will spend time making sure, that on the evening, the audience think this new material is all spontaneous.  I secretly like the fact that I prepare so thoroughly for my stage act.  It is as if this extra preparation justifies the higher fee I will be getting, simply by being on stage.  This homework also assuages the part of my brain which bangs on about old fashioned work ethics.

The motivation comes from, actually not wanting to be too comfortable.  I want to feel slightly nervous before going on stage; I think I would really miss that feeling.

I recently heard that all performers get greedy (not greedy for money, but certainly for career advancement).  For example, if a performer has played to 100 people, they then want to perform to 200.  Then they want to book an Edinburgh show, then want to be on TV. 

But surely, it is the constant journey we all enjoy, not the being on telly.  I mean Carol Vorderman must be itching to get back on the road, doing sums on stage to audiences that just want to drink heavily.  Yes, I wasn’t sure where that blog was going either.

Anyway, I saw that it was £2,500.  Pretty good money I thought, but then I realised this money had to be split between the seven band members.  As the band started their set, I drank my ice cold water and challenged my mind to work out, how much each band member would be receiving that evening.  This will be a breeze I thought; my mind was quite relaxed as I had already prepared my next ten minutes on stage.  Now, before you eggheads shout out “you idiot, it is £357 and 14 pence each, with two lucky band members getting the extra pennies”, I should point out, I had done a lot of travelling that week so I could have been tired.  But Buddha on a bike, two songs in, and I still couldn’t work it out in my head, even an approximate figure.  The exact figure would have required paper, but surely I could come up with a rough split.  No, nothing; it was like one of those moments when you can’t spell a really simple word, (a word you have used a lot) no matter how hard you try.

This made me think, the brain is an incredible organ.   I mean, how can’t I divide 2500 by 7, and yet, I can remember everyone’s name at an event with 150 guests?  I still do not know how I do this; I just know it comes easily to me on the evenings of the functions.  My wife is very good with faces, I am good with names.  If we are at a party, she spots the face, I ask her where she has seen that person in the past, and I come up with the name; we are like buddy cops.

People often ask me how I can remember so many names.  The only answer I can give is, I want, so much, for the people to have a great time that my sub conscious mind obviously believes this personal touch will help, and so it frees up brain space.  So I guess I am somehow motivated to do it.

This made me think about motivation.  Years ago, I wrote a revision guide for college students.  When I finished it, I distinctly remember thinking it could all be summed up in six words – Just Believe You Can Do It.
My students often used to say, when I presented them with something difficult to study, “Sir (I miss being called Sir), I’ll never learn all that”.   I would say “Are you sure, what about, if I give you 1 million pounds?”  I stopped short of putting my little finger in the corner of my mouth Dr. Evil style, as I didn’t want humour to dilute my point.  They always gave the same reply – “well obviously I would learn it for a million pounds”.  To which I would reply, “So it is only the lack of financial incentives which is stopping you”.  They would say “Look, if you are not giving me a million pounds I am not doing it”.  I was a great teacher huh?

Anyway, the point I am making (in a very bad way) is, I was obviously not interested and therefore not motivated in working out the division of money between the band members, well either that, or I am a bit thick.

Anyway, today I am going to do something different for you.

You know that point, where as a parent, you are too tired to read to your child, and you say “wouldn’t you like to watch Finding Nemo again”, and you put on the DVD?  Well this blog is the adult equivalent of that.  What I mean by that is, I would love to write a full blog of over 500 words, however, wouldn’t you just like to see some funny clips I have chosen from youtube?  Of course you would.

I realise that in the past my youtube links have not taken you to comedy clips; that is, unless you are so disrespectful of the King, that you laughed at Elvis’s karate moves – shame on you.

Anyway, here are the clips; I think you will find them very funny.  This first clip is from the hottest show at last year’s Edinburgh festival.  The big guy is called Greg Davies (he looks like a giant Rik Mayall).  Greg used to be a Drama teacher.  I guess there must be two types of Drama teacher; the ones that inhale for affect, and hold their faces and make expressions as if acting is really really difficult, and the other type, who are just mental like Greg.  Enjoy it anyway; they are called We are Klang.   Glad you liked it.

How about Jim Carrey at a dinner for Meryl Streep?  This clip gets a bit sycophantic at times but there is a bit in the middle where it is just pure “Pet Detective”.   Hope you like it, here is Jim Carrey

Now eat that ice cream and I’ll show you the mirror scene from the Marx Brothers.
Ok time for bed.

I mean, you wouldn’t ask an escaping prisoner, who had been tunnelling for 20 years, if he wished he could go back.  Anyway, the other day I found some notes which suggested I myself had been “tunnelling” for years in my attempt to escape. 

The notes were meant to be used as material on stage.  The handwritten notes were made when I was still teaching but obviously trying to get out, well subconsciously at least.  These were the days when I was teaching by day and performing by night in comedy clubs.  It sounds tiring, it never was.  The natural high from a great gig always takes ages to wear off, so driving home from Manchester was a breeze.  A few hours sleep and then the thought of doing it all again, well after a full day of teaching, was strangely refreshing and exciting.

Anyway, these notes I found, contained material, which as I mentioned, I had intended to use on stage in those early try out days.  I noticed that I had a page and a half of school based observations and jokes, and yet I never used any of this material on stage, ever.  I think the reason was I just felt I wanted to move on, and that meant forgetting the past.  I assume, it is a bit like, the writing of an angry letter to someone who has annoyed you, and then not posting it.  The actual writing (but not sending) process is meant to be very cathartic.  So, in a similar fashion, it must have worked for me because one year after writing those notes (yes the notes were dated in the corner – that OCD is useful after all) I was off “the lead” and pursuing my present passion (comedy and magic, come on keep up).

I have mentioned in previous blogs the great work done by teachers and I would never have a word said against them.  Trying to rationalise with children who arrive at school already high on drugs takes some patience and is deserving of really good pay.
And there were good times I suppose: the really good kids, the really good staff, the five a side games, the holidays obviously and the use of the long pole to open the top windows.

Oh, and the nicknames the kids gave the teachers.  One teacher called Bruce, used to give the punishment of writing out two sheets of A4 front and back.  His nickname was……….. Bruce Foursides.   Not bad, but I am still glad to be out.  Anyway, that is probably the reason I never used those notes, either that, or they were rubbish.

So, here goes, there was a beautiful sunrise today apparently; my wife had run down to the beach to see it (well not for that reason).  Anyway, that is how great the weather is at the moment.  My wife is a full time athlete (not really but it seems that way – and no, I am not complaining) who is in training for another marathon.  You are right, there really is no need!

While I am on the subject, we are both still taking suggestions as to which charity we should adopt (my wife for her needless running and me for my pointless blog – I don’t think I am selling this as well as I could).  When we decide (hopefully with your help) I will put a link from my site to the chosen charity website.  That way, you can give to the charity directly, and then inform me of how much.  I in return, I will post your names on my website in a type face reflecting the donation e.g. £50 will be type size 28, £2 will be type size 12.  Not that that is the reason you give to charity, unless of course you are sanctimonious.  Which, if that is the case, that is fine too, I am sure the charity will be chuffed either way.

Anyway, back to the weather.  It has been like the South of France.  I was in London last week walking along the embankment and people were sitting on park benches enjoying the sun and very strong cider at 10a.m. – you can’t tell me that happens everyday.  I wonder if business men rushing to work (and their first heart attack) see these guys and think, “screw the Zurich deal I am taking a 3 hour lunch”.  In fact, today, on the radio a leading psychologist said that we are all working too hard and heading for disaster.  I know, I for one, am not taking that chance.

On Sunday we were out with friends in the alpine sunshine of the Tyne Valley.  You see that, putting the words, alpine and valley in the same sentence conjures up images of skiing and Wham videos.  Well, we walked along the River Tyne – oh! Not so glamorous now you think, but you are wrong; the North is great – well when the sun shines.

I even like those weather expressions which are specific only to Britain (I assume due to our prevailing south westerly winds).  Expressions such as:
Red sky at night: shepherd’s delight.
Red sky in the morning: Shepherd’s warning.
Black sky in the morning: Oh No, I have got up too early again.
Anyway, I haven’t got time to talk about the weather I have things to do; now where is that off license?

The train was very crowded so I decide to stand, as it was only until Darlington and I had luggage.  You know that train announcement which says “Can you make sure you have all of your possessions with you” well I think this lady on the train had taken this literally and gone home to get everything she owned.  We all had to help her with her  stuff (I mean stuff not just suitcases) but we forgave her, as her babies were cute and well behaved. 

Some people overreacted to being inconvenienced but most were, as the youngsters say, cool with it (get your own words and hairstyles will you).  Some people had mentioned the words, nightmare and disaster on their mobiles, but come on, it wasn’t either of those– it just means we will be late, so what, there are loads of things worse than being late.

When we got to Darlington (and were standing on a ramp in an orderly queue) some people, realised they were going to miss their connections and so had started to complain to the officials, who were all doing their best and ushering us onto the coaches. 

Then, out of nowhere, appeared a very large lady.  She was walking up the other ramp away from us with her low slung jeans slipping down to her thighs and so exposing her bottom and her thong.  Let’s just say, the tail of the whale was well out of the water.  It was as if is someone was cramming two world globes into a very small bag.  I don’t know why it was such an amusing sight, but it was.  The people who were complaining to the officials actually saw this bizarre vision before everyone else and started to smile very broadly (they were English and so they stopped short of laughing).  We (the non-complainers, who were being nosey and were listening to and watching the complainers) could not understand why anyone complaining should start to smile mid-sentence, I mean it made no sense.  Then, of course, we spotted the slipping fashion faux pas.  We all started to smile.  I remember the officials looking at us all very strangely, half smiling themselves as if to say “What, have I got a bit of snot?”

Maybe the Middle East situation could be resolved with a little hilarity caused by something similar to the lady with slipping pants.  Although in hindsight (get it?) the Gaza strip is not as exciting as it sounds and the people there are not known for their love of expanses of flesh.

Then came the announcement that we could all get compensation as our train is going to be really late.  The announcement was as follows: “passengers who feel they have been inconvenienced by the delay in our service today, can claim by picking up a compensation form, unfortunately we have no forms left”.  Even the people who hadn’t smiled at the unfortunate lady smiled at that one.

With my meticulous plans made, I set off for London, no need for a taxi I had checked the weather (told you they were meticulous); it is a very sunny (15 degrees) February day.  The walk to the station, of course, being part of my “built into life” fitness programme, I mentioned in an earlier blog.
I get to the metro station and buy a ticket as my train just comes into view.  I have the right money; no ticket machine malfunction.  Perfect, I step onto the train as if I had just ordered an over elaborate stretch yellow taxi.  I sit down right next to the place where luggage can be stored, how convenient is that?  The lad sitting next to me has an ipod, and how thoughtful is this? I can’t hear the buzzing noise from it, that is how good a day it is.  What could possibly go wrong?

The lad does have one of those Rod Stewart 1971 haircuts that seem to be all the rage with the modern teenagers.  Why they can’t get their own original haircuts, I mean!  I never had a Glenn Miller haircut in the 70’s, and that would have been the equivalent of a thirty year old, out of date, haircut then.

The train crosses the bridge and Newcastle looks brilliant – like a European capital, no, not because of the illiterate graffiti.  In fact, with the strong sunlight, you could be mistaken for being in Sydney, as Sydney’s landmark bridge was also made by Dorman Long, the company which built the Tyne Bridge.  And our new massive Sage music venue is not too dissimilar to their opera house.  Although, we in the North East, don’t have a drink culture and are never disrespectful of our women, so we win there obviously.

I pick up my luggage to prepare to leave the train at Central Station.  Now I have travelled the world and know that train etiquette is universal.  That is, train passengers on the train alight first, and then and only then, do platform passengers step onto the train.  So, I am about to step off, when three platform passengers try to push past me.  As a reminder of the system I deliberately walk into them.  I would just like to say in defence of all youngsters, that the people I carried on my elbows as I left the train were not teenagers but young men in their 20’s and 30’s.  I think the fact that I moved in silence must have been quite threatening, as no one said anything.  I resisted saying “Oh my God, doesn’t anyone have any manners” as I must have known it would sound like Frasier or Niles.

Was this a warning my ying was about to switch to my yang (it could be the other way round, I am not up on Buddhism).  Either way the answer was yes – see part two tomorrow.

I am not sure I get why, just because you are rich you would want to run for the Presidency of the USA?  If you think about it, apart from the front-runners, who are also rich (but obviously they were in with a shout right from the start) the others must have known their vanity projects would end prematurely.  When you get so rich, is this really the last piece of your ego jigsaw?  Has Doctor Evil (or the bloke who bought Newcastle Football Club) taught us nothing?

Anyway, the BBC are getting very excited over Super Tuesday.  Why?  I have no idea; I have been to America and they think Gordon Blair is in charge of the country Europe.  So why, in this country, do we need to know about all their build up (the whole thing is set to run for full year yet); can’t we just adopt the airline policy of “wake me up if you have something for me”?  So, enough already (I am not Jewish by the way – I just like the phrase) of candidates waving and spouting rhetoric.  And really Barick, the best slogan you could come up with is “Change” - that 50 million dollars you spent on marketing is really paying off, then?  Mind, having said that, McCain’s wife is really hot – so more pictures of her please.

That’s enough about America and Super Tuesday; let’s talk about what is happening in this country today on Pancake Day.  The logic (and tradition) is to use up everything we have in our larders (that word doesn’t get used enough).  And then of course to “go without something”, for 40 days.  So, as Christians, we are able to empathise more with Jesus’ suffering for his 40 days in the desert*.

Let me run that past you again – the idea is to give stuff up – not to buy new stuff.  Well the people in Asda were obviously not aware of their irony as they lined up to purchase “easy to use” pancake mix.  This was not a short queue , in fact, it was longer than a roll-over lottery one.  Judging by their trolleys of food they had all chosen to give up Broccoli.
*The 40 days time scale is used a lot in the Bible and apparently it was because many people 2,000 years ago could only count up to 40 – so when 40 is mentioned in the Bible it could have been even longer – who knows.