"Been Down The Smoke Mate"

Just back from a very enjoyable trip back home, firstly to London, where, in order t keep within budget, we stayed in a disabled room at the "Holiday Lodge" near Covent garden. To be fair we didn´t request the disabled room - it´s all they had left, but save for the very low sink and the window that opened with a winding handle on the wall we didn´t notice much difference. Only problem was that the window didn´t shut properly and so I was shunted over to that side of the bed to dutifully sleep in the way of the icy blast for the duration of our stay.

Girlfriend Nikki and I seldom argue, but when we do it tends to be about getting lost, or arriving late somewhere (usually because we´ve got lost). We´d previously located "The Duchess Theatre" TWICE during the day to make sure we knew where it was, but as we exited the coffee shop in the early evening, we still headed in the wrong direction by about 180 degrees. Or at least we would have done if we had followed her instincts, - earlier I had taken the flak for getting us lost the first time around (we had spent most of the day hunting round in bewildered circles, only to find that if we had set off in the opposite direction from the hotel we would have been in the foyer of the theatre within 5 minutes).

The play itself is a one man affair starring Bob Golding, who takes on the daunting role as one of our greatest ever comics Eric Morecambe, it was a sterling effort and he received a standing ovation on its completion. As we came out into the night air we came across an old fashioned bicycle tethered to the lamp post and thought how wonderful it would have been if Eric would have peeped round the stage door with a long trench coat, flat cap and carrier bag, put on a pair of cycle clips and rode off into the night shouting "We-he-hey!"(But he didn´t).

The train journey back to Blackpool was a long and expensive one, costing about twice as much as the flight from Spain a couple of days before, and we came to a juddering halt as the train in front broke down in Wakefied Station. This ensured that we neatly missed our connection from Leeds by three minutes and had to wait another hour for the next one.

We drank down our 100th coffee of the trip in ´Starbucks´ and then had a nosey round the visitors centre. - Visitors centre? - in Leeds? We eventually made steady progress towards the west coast until a points failure at Poulton-Le-Fylde" which meant shifting from crawling along at 4.5 miles per hour and coming to a blind stop at regular intervals. By the time we arrived it had been dark for about four hours and we had lost an entire day somewhere.

The two days in Blackpool were spent reading about the Queens visit for the Royal Variety Show a couple of days previously and fending off chilblains.

Benidorm Fiestas

To the Spanish, the fiestas are a collection of spectacular street parades, travelling fun fairs, bustling roadside markets and wondrous breathtaking firework displays. To the British it´s a chance to get paralytic dressed as Donald Duck - each to their own eh!?

I would like to start by thanking Chubby Brown, Sharon and Ozzy Osbourne, Bam Bam, Jeff Lynne, Big Chief Sitting Bull, The Virginian, Cocoa the clown (2 of), Reverand green from "Cluedo", Rod Stewart, Amy Winehouse, a team of zombies, a surgeon, sailor, soldier, a nun a honey bee, the "Great Big Sheikh Of Bury", a group of posh looking birds from the roaring 20´s and the many more who turned out for the annual fancy dress day at The Cumberland Bar as part of the climax of the November fiestas here in Benidorm. I personall incurred a blistered inner top lip as a result of the rubber teeth as part of the old "Dick Emery´s vicar routine", but it was well worth it.

Keep Piling On The Sun Cream, Wear A Hat, And Keep Yer Rear End Out Of Sight.

The temperatures here remain gloriously unseasonal, just a few days from November and still it feels like summer, normally at this time I´ve packed away me fair weather gear and have de bobbled the old jumpers with a view to actually wearing the things. Instead I spend the days (and nights) ligging round in me undercrackers with the windows wide open and one of the customers in the bar complained that he has over 20 mosquito bites on his buttocks! (maybe HE should have been ligging around in his underwear). That´s an impressive tally though isn´t it? – 20 - were they all delivered from the same mossie? – couldn´t it find a vein? – must have been the size of a bumble bee when it made its getaway - leaving its victim with an arse like a Belisha Becon no doubt.
The November fiestas are looming and I have sorted the garb for fancy dress day, - I´m going as Dick Emery´s vicar. Have got a long frock coat thing, grey wig and some rubber teeth – these strangely make me look more like Larry Grayson (“what a gay day”, “look at the muck in here” etc.) but I´m sticking with em.

"Let There Be Light..............."

And God Said “Let There Be Light, And There Was Light, And Then There Was No Light, Then There Was A Bit of Of Light, - And Then The Water Went off”

It´s a hardy old annual I know but, electric and Spain simply don´t get on do they? Everybody knows this and it will be forever thus, but why for God´s sake? I remember in the 80´s working in the Canaries, which of course isn´t actually in Spain, but we had power cuts most days of the week then. Usually early evening when I was getting ready, and many´s the time I turned up for work wearing the wrong trousers, toothpaste all around my mouth and underpants on back to front.
Fast forward 20 years and what has changed? – well, bugger all really. It´s not just that we get regular power cuts for no apparent reason either, generally the standard of wiring to household appliances tends to be shambolic. Where I live now the light in the living room consists of 2 bulbs within the fitting, sometimes one comes on but not the other, other times the other one will come on at the expense of its partner, but hardly ever together. It´s a similar story in the bedroom, once turned on they make an eerie fizzing sound, which results in one bulb burning out after a couple of weeks whilst the other one intermittingly goes brighter then dim, goes off altogether, then might come on again 10 minutes later. This has got steadily worse, and being a late night reader this was driving me up the pole. So today I moved the Light standard from the enclosed balcony and placed it next to my bed, there are two lights on this, a big one at the top and a separate arm which will do as a reading light. The only problem with this is that the light at the top sometimes emits a bit of light – even when it´s turned off! but not always. I´d earlier tried an ancient looking 60´s bedside lamp that I´d found in the wardrobe, and that flashed rapidly, like a strobe light, very impressive, but not much good to read by.
In my last apartment, - which was beautifully decorated and very pleasing on the eye, when I turned the bedroom light off, it turned off every other light in the place. Also the living room light would turn itself on! This could happen any time, but usually between 6 and 6.30 in the morning for some indiscernible reason. Two nights ago I read by candlelight as the electric had gone off altogether, and I laid there resigned to my fete, being eaten alive by rampant mossies (my mosquito killer plugs in) and squinting at the flickering pages of cricketer Micheal Atherton´s autobiography whilst listening to the “plink plink” of my fridge freezer gently defrosting. Well, at least I´ve got water, er,.........hang on a minute!

Off We Go Again.

Well, after a 4 month lay off it was my first show back tonight at "Sinatras". It´s always a bit of a trial until I get back into the swing of it, but tonight had added pressure what with my back problems restricting me to a "Quasimodo" type lurch right up until a week ago, the pressure was on. There was a fairly healthy crowd in there, and a fair few familiar faces, "Sinatras" is a bit like a Club back home, with the same people coming back year on year - I like that.

I´m came through well enough without going over arse over apex as soon as I had reason to bend down as I´d envisioned, and I was reasonably well satisfied by the end.

Afterwards, when I´d got changed, this middle aged woman came up to me and asked if she could have a word. - Arh, I thought, maybe a few kind words welcoming me back, a pat on the back for a job half well done, or at worst a bit of constructive criticism. But no. (Bear in mind that this woman had just been sat in the audience during my 45 minute spot), she said "Has anybody handed a Hearing Aid in do you know?" - she thought I was the barman - or I think she did.

Oh I´ve missed all this.

Sporting Dis-honour and Back Pain.

What´s happening to sport these days? What with racing drivers deliberately crashing cars, rugby players buying blood capsules from joke shops and tucking them in their socks, and footballers diving as soon as they glimpse the penalty area? Oh yes and that “woman” athlete from South Africa who won the 800 metres at the world championships sporting a pair of bollocks that would have frightened Katie price. It´s all gone tits up – last example excluded.

On the bad back front, I bumped into my old mate “Dozzer” the window cleaner from Sheffield yesterday who told of similar woes and said he had to see a chiropractor in Alfaz Del Pi to fix his and it cost him 600 euros. (my initial enthusiasm waned). “But is it right now though” I inquired.“It´ll never be right” he replied with a wan smile. He continued. “Mind yer, me missus got run over a few month back, and now when she sneezes she just falls in a heap”. This rather put my problem into perspective and I left it at that. I´ve since gone along the self treatment route and have been performing a series of “Cat” stretches on the rug in the front room which have definitely made a difference . - Give me another couple of week and I reckon I´ll be able to sit on the fence whilst licking me genitals.
See - www.theconcertchairman.blogspot.com

Blackpool And Its Troublesome Pensioners.

Well, it’s pissing down here in Benidorm so I’d better hurry up and finish this before my electric goes off. The weather was glorious when I left from Yeadon airport on Saturday (That’s Leeds/Bradford to you), and it’s been a little, er... changeable since I got back. Enjoyed my time in Blackpool doing knack all. I’ve got a soft spot for the old place alright and it’s nice to see that they’re spending a fair old wad in an effort to drag it up from its wellington boots in an effort to propel it kicking and screaming into the 21st Century. However I can’t really condone its zero tolerance policy towards law abiding middle aged men. I’ve been left scratching my head at instances such as my uncle Eddie (who’s 65) being refused service in “Churchills” pub for having the temerity to enjoy himself, us lot being chucked out of “Flares” for “dancing too vociferously” (try doing that to “Bucks Fizz”), and me being followed to the promenade before being ludicrously accused of stealing a “Daily Mail” from W.H. Smiths by a security man and his vacant looking sidekick the store detective. That was hilarious and worthy of a blog all of its own.

The worrying thing is that I’ve picked up this back injury, not as you might think as a result of tottering down the east coast with a rucksack the same size as myself perched at my rear, or from scurrying about on all fours in my snug sized tent (there was only one bit in the middle where I could actually sit up). Oh no, that was no trouble, even the old knees didn’t come up like Kenny Ball’s cheeks and were as good as gold. No, the back went doing, er.... precisely nothing! Can’t for the life of me remember doing anything particularly over zealous, say, lifting a particularly heavy looking pint pot, or fending off one of the Blackpool Loons on giro day, but it hurts like hell anyway. It looks like being a long wait before I can resume my evening show – I’ve got a dozen quick changes in that, - but I can’t even put me socks on at the moment! So looks like I’ve got a few more mornings of abseiling down the side of the bed on a sheet first thing in the morning and biting the pillow as I stagger to my feet like somebody who has just been shot.

British Variety Tour 2009

BRITISH VARIETY TOUR 2009
On Friday we went to see the British Variety Tour at The Opera House. The line-up is made up of acts that were on our television screens back in the 70’s, and who many (not me) presumed had either retired or died.
The compere was Tom O’Connor, who I had only ever seen as hosting TV game shows back in the day – “Name That Tune” etc. It turns out he’s a wonderfully warm comic in his own right and he knitted the show together beautifully. First up was one of my heroes, the truly full on, bees in the underpants, stark staring, barking mad Norman Collier. He shambled on stage, said nothing, glared at the audience and announced “You’re probably wondering why I sent for you all this evening”. Sadly, it seems the old boy is slowing down a little these days and he struggles with the more physical stuff. “That’s half a chicken” he says whilst doing a much toned down version of a pop eyed clucking, ruffled hair, jacket off the back of the shoulders strutting hen that I remember from way back, but he still reduced me to tears (last year I was severely reprimanded by the couple sat behind me for laughing too much!), with his Al Jolson morphing into Pingu the penguin, and then into one of those nodding ornate penguin things that used to dip its beak into a bowl of water on your mantel piece or windowsill. – A living legend.
Next up was Roger De Coursey, whose sidekick “Nookie” bear was only employed for the last 5 minutes of the act. He is not the most skilled ventriloquist you’ll ever see, and maybe he should grow his tashe down to his lower lip or something I don’t know. Some of his jokes were good, but he seemed to be looking forward to the end of his spot a little bit too much for my liking - he glanced at his watch about a dozen times, - as did some of the audience. “Bucks Fizz” closed the first half, but with only one of the original members (the bloke that nobody remembers), and 3 substantially younger counterparts, he looked a bit ridiculous prancing around doing twee little dance routines in a white suit and sensible shoes. They sang well enough but the “Meatloaf” tribute was a step too far for me.
For the start of the second half enter Faith Brown and her amazing performing breasts. Faith has long been associated with not being short in the “Top Bollocks” department, and by jingo they were certainly on form this night. They were trussed up like a frozen chicken and presented in front of her face so that only her eyebrows were visible. She’s actually a top turn, great presence, singing voice, impressions, bubbly persona, it’s all there, but like the two young lads sat in front of me I found it difficult to concentrate on what she was actually saying.
I first saw “Cannon and Ball” live when they were at the peak of their powers in Great Yarmouth in the early eighties, the theatre was packed and they blew everybody away. In all those years since, I haven’t noticed a decline in their performance, not even slightly; all the drive, enthusiasm and sheer A1 star quality still shines out at you and transports you back in a thrice to great old days of comedy double acts. This is a lost art, and to watch them draw an audience into their surreal little world and then render them powerless to resist them is a joy indeed. The two young lads in front of me and a girl of about ten behind me were reduced to hysterics every time Bobby Ball so much as raised an eyebrow, - aarh! – this’ll be family entertainment then.
We left the theatre feeling considerably happier than when we went in, and that’s all you can ask really.

At A Bit Of A Loose End.

Back blogging on here again after my exploits on the charity walk down the east coast. It was a game of 2 halves as they say. The first bit at the end of June was bloody hot, I lost about a stone and the gorilla gloves melted, the second half was spent muddied up to the eyeballs in soggy fields listening to the sound of raindrops amplified to cannon fire by the roof of the tent. I did Berwick-Upon-Tweed to Whitby (mainly in the gorilla suit) in 11 days, then had to miss out the bit between Whitby and Brid as I had to do battle with the passport office at Liverpool (doing it next year). It took me 9 days to walk from Brid to Mablethorpe but only a mile and a half (in Cleethorpes) was actually on the coast, which is a bit of a blow when you're doing a coastal walk, the rest of the time I found myself hopping up and down off the grass verges of winding B roads which was a pain in the arse quite honestly. I had planned to make it to Great Yarmouth by the end of August but I've run over budget somewhat so that's it for this year.

I came back to Blackpool last weekend for the "Cumberland Ex-Servicemen's Club" annual reunion which was a hoot and unbelievably well attended, a bit TOO well attended if anything and there's talk of giving Reginald Dixon (anybody under 50 - google him) the day off and booking the Tower Ballroom next year.

So now, I'm staying here until I return to Benidorm in September in the girlfriends tiny bedsit, -where ever you are in the room you can reach the sink - and we're both suffering with cabin fever.

Hello again!

As I am travelling down the east coast on me charity walk, I am using a netbook with limited battery life so to save time I'll be blogging only on www.thecampinggorilla.blogspot.com until the end of August.
Byeeee.

Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye

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The Camping Gorilla
Saturday, 20 June 2009


Well, I've been back in England now a few days gathering together me trekking gear - and me thoughts, and it's been pretty damn fraught. My nerves have been shredded, partly because I'm walking around stone deaf cos nobody seems to have the time to stick a syringe full of luke warm water down me lug hole, and my attempts to renew the old passport have proved futile in the extreme. Added to this my sudden realization of the scale of the thing, and of the fact that lump on me back is a rucksack and not Doctor Who's tardis, and you have panic on your hands. Have been busy trying to cram everything in there, from bare essentials such as tent, sleeping bag, gorilla costume, sleeping mat, to all the extras like maps, torch, compass, towell, stove, clothes, toiletries etc etc etc. It's been a nightmare let me tell you, and hopefully I CAN tell you if I can get me Netbook (small laptop) to function in the next day or 2. If not, my posts will be limited to the odd time I come across a cyber caff - wish me luck as you wave me goodbye!

David Carradine - R.I.P

R.I.P David Carradine, - it said in the paper yesterday that he starred in “Kill Bill” – what nonsense, he was Kwai Chang Caine from the 70´s series “Kung Fu”, - that´s who he was! – Any middle aged bloke will tell you that. He was compelling viewing alright, - I´ve got a feeling that it was on of a Saturday tea time on ITV and tragically may have clashed with “Basil Brush” – the BBC´s funniest ever glove puppet. Caine set off for America´s wild west in search of his half brother constantly getting into scrapes with rough arsed cowboys who mocked his demeanour and peaceful ways (he wasn´t so peaceful when he brayed hell out of em with his bare feet mind you). I loved the constant flashbacks to when he was being taught by monks in the Shaolin temple, constantly setting him challenges – “When you can snatch the pebble from my hand it will be time for you to go” and having to walk along rice paper without tearing it, etc etc. – Don´t remember the dangling yourself by your private parts in a wardrobe bit though.

www.kevinholt.net

Four Weeks To Go - And Not Overly Confident.

It´s 4 weeks to the off now for the “Big walk” down the east coast, I´ve been building up slowly – and I mean slowly, it´s taken 2 months to pluck up courage to walk as far as 17 miles, which I did today. This was a triumph, I managed the last couple of miles without thinking I was wading through axle grease and my knees were only aching instead of downright killing me, unlike last week when they screamed out at me to stop and came up like Kenny Ball´s cheeks. I´m not bitter about that ludicrous challenge inside the centre circle, whereby I was scythed down needlessly and had my kneecap rammed round the other side of my adams apple during an Over 30´s versus Under 30´s football match back in 1981 – I hardly ever mention it in fact. (ah-em). But it´s been murder these past few weeks, and I´ve been reliving the incident over in my mind of late (you can read a full account in my book “Are You Affiliated” – available as a free download on www.kevinholt.net (advert over). The fact is, at 18 my career was in shreds and it would have been absolutely tragic – if I´d have been any good.
I´ve achieved these recent results by basically walking slower and not lifting my feet up off the ground so much, this results in me shuffling about rather in the manor of an old man in his slippers padding down his garden path to the wheelie bin, - but so be it. The only problem is, now that the weather is getting warmer I´ve started to develop this horrendous heat rash which is especially bad on my legs, it resembles a cross between German measles and injuries incurred by being flung off a motorbike at high speed whilst wearing nothing but a pair of “Speedos”. Problem is I wear a pair of tennis shorts in the show when I do Cliff Richard, and I´m on in “Sinatras” tomorrow night. – Will a bit of talc hide it do you think, - or will I have to wear tights?

Forget The "Credit Crunch", Financial Meltdown And All That - Kajagoogoo Are Back!!

Can say without fear of contradiction that summer is officially here now, I cleaned the apartment tonight topless! It´s not something I´m in the habit of doing let me tell you, - I think it´s bad manners – even though there´s nobody else here, but I was getting a right sweat on and something just had to give.
It´s been a funny old week, my football team cocking up the Division 1 play-offs induced me into 48 hours of manic depression which lightened only when Peter Andre and Katie Price announced that they were splitting up and could the media please “respect their privacy”. Another hot piece of news that brought me back from the brink was the bombshell that “Kajagoogoo” were to reform, - and about time too I hear you cry. I´ve just been on the official website (yeh, that´s what I thought) and – have you got a pen handy? – they´re appearing at “Hobbles On The Cobbles” – free concert on the market square in Aylesbury, “The Rescue Rooms” in Nottingham, and Leipzig Germany, which is listed simply as a “Free Concert in the city of Leipzig” – it doesn´t even say where. (Busking?). Can´t help but notice that the word “free” keeps cropping up, then again you wouldn´t want to be paying actual money to watch them performing “Too Shy” for 2 hours would you? Anyway, ten out of ten lads for having the cheek to get back together, and at least all UK hair gel manufacturers may take a keen interest.

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The Summer Starts Here

Well the summer starts here – the cricket has started! – cue coming in from work, bobbing “Test Match Special” on, stretching out on the sofa and drinking in the latest musings from Sir Geoffrey, C.M.J, Aggers and the boys, - now that´s what I CALL relaxation. Good God we even won a test match today! Big sporting week all round as it goes with my team Leeds United in the first leg of the 1st Division playoffs tomorrow with an early kick off against Millwall – though I suspect it´s not quite early enough for the Greater London Police Force, who put in for a half 7 in the morning start by all accounts (Suspect all leave will be cancelled).
Work wise, I felt a bit for Mike Dennett and Chic (vent act) the other night who did the spot before me to a very sparse crowd, half of whom were watching the Arsenal v Man. United Champions League semi final – with sound on! – you have to laugh – and it´s a shame they didn´t (it was the same for me). Come back the northern working men´s club circuit – all is forgiven.
The “Cumberland Ex-Servicemen´s Club” has been going great since Easter (a notoriously quiet stretch), we´ve got the best part of 600 members now and the collection of characters just grows and grows. The latest is “Paul Orbison” who specializes in songs by ......well, av a guess. He always dresses in black, complete with leather jacket which never leaves his shoulders even though the temperature is up in the 80´s and he even puts his dark glasses on to fill out his karaoke slip! Nice one Paul, you´ll do for us.

http://www.kevinholt.net/

www.cumberlandbarchairman.blogspot.com

"Where´s Your Donkey?"

Have started training for the charity trek down the east coast of England this summer, and on the whole it´s been going pretty well. Apart from a couple of old injuries rearing their ugly heads that is, - a mystery shoulder injury from about 18 month back plus a dodgy knee incurred whilst being viciously scythed down whilst playing for the Guiseley Working Men´s Club under 30´s football team against the over 30´s in 1981.
Have been loading up the rucksack with bottles of water, books, coats and a pair of old boots, it´s not that I intend drinking 6 litres of water, changing my footwear or stopping off for a little read on my round, but it does replicate the weight of a tent, sleeping bag and other necessities I´ll be carrying come the end of June. Have stopped short of wearing the gorilla suit though, we all know that the Spanish are world class when it comes to staring at nothing in particular, and I get a few strange looks just by wearing a backpack, so lumbering down the promenade in full primate mode, scraping my knuckles along the ground and grunting is probably going to be a bit too much for em in my opinion.
On the work front, haven´t had too many catastrophes of late, but after a show in “Sinatras” this week one old lady asked me “What have you done with the donkey?” – this statement confused me more than a little. -Just who the hell is she confusing me with? – The Virgin Mary and Osama Bin Laden were ditched from the act years ago.
(Download my books for free on www.kevinholt.net)

There´s No Business like Slow Business.

Well, the last two nights have been slightly bizarre on the work front. It´s been a quiet time of late, and what with Easter just round the corner – a notorious barren spell, and the exchange rate, some shows can be a battle.
First up I did a club that I´d never worked before whereby I got saddled with the late spot. By the time I got on the audience had thought better of it and the one remaining party, who were celebrating a birthday, I actually knew as they had been in “The Cumberland” that afternoon. Moments before I went on I was informed that I was only required to do “Half a show” - so I could be paid half the money, which turned out just as well as the stage turned out to be a bit on the wee side which left me a little limited in the tearing about and waving me arms about like a loon stakes (a vital ingredient in any show I think you´ll agree) and generally stuck to the more ´stationary` characters. Unfortunately “Billy Conolly´s” thunder was stolen when the punch line to his joke was delivered with some force by one of my “friends” in the front row and when (still in character) I berated him for making me look an arse, he proffered some words of regret. The first time ever that a member of my audience has apologised to me for me being rubbish, the remainder of the performance was littered with intakes of breath whilst I barged into the screen (behind which I get changed), kicked over my glass of water and trod on my guitar. I came off to the sound of my own feet and was damn lucky to get the full “half fee” in the end.

Then last night I went on to two middle aged men sat at different tables (who judging by the thick spectacles and long coats had turned up a couple of hours early for the stripper), who upped and went after about 10 minutes, (presumably because I didn´t get me jugs out). A group of about 3 couples who were busy entertaining each other at the back and a couple sat at a table directly under the television (which they were watching). On a lighter note, John the scouse sound and lighting man was celebrating his birthday. He plays the cameo of Andy Pitkin in a Little Britain sketch whereby I propel him from the cellar in a wheelchair and the script demands that I force-feed him a rancid drink pre prepared by the evil Carlos, - a wide eyed, flaming nostrilled Anglo Spanish maniac Sheffield United supporter. This drink is usually secreted amongst some of the audience sat at the front, but, as there were none, the female duo, due on next were seconded from their safe haven at the bar, plonked in a couple of seats and pretended to enjoy themselves. (cheers girls). The piercing silence was broken as I introduced “Michael Jackson” when a young couple (where did they come from?) started shrieking at one another with all the ferocity of a 70`s McEnroe line call query. I´d like to think it was them who cleared the place, because as I emerged for the final time from behind the screen to take my bow I was gamely clapped by the club´s sole inhabitants – “Deb ´n` Her” (thanks again girls) and “Jonny Flash” the photographer who had presumably been sent in to record the incident for police records.

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CREDIT CRUNCH EFFECTS ´THE OLDEST GAME IN THE WORLD`

Performed my first show at ´Chaplins` for 3 months last night – it´s been shut for – ah-em ,“refurbishment”. Not sure how many of the rather exuberant and youthful looking hen party in there were actually aware that I was doing a show, but anyway I came away unscathed. Had to smile the other night in ´Sinatras`. During the act, as I changed behind the screen, I announce “And now, ladies and gentlemen, - the queen of rock and roll” and before I had chance to finish, somebody shouts – “Chubby Checker!” – what!!?? (it´s Freddie Mercury by the way).
We´ve had some decidedly ropey weather over the last few days, that very English Bank Holiday type of light rain that Peter Kay says “soaks you through”, the stuff that goes on forever and this coupled with ferocious wind blew the clock off the wall on the landing and threw a few seats about in the stadium built just up the road for the Spain versus Serbia Davis Cup tennis match. Thankfully there was nobody sat in them at the time but the days play was postponed until the maintenance team can get it fixed. – Easter?
Was reduced to hysterics in the gym this morning when one of the regulars, Alan – an unassuming, slightly stooping diminutive chap in his 70´s told me what had happened to him the night before. In his own words – “Me and me mate were walking home when this swarthy looking woman stood in front of us, looked at us for a second and then said “Would you like to f*** my big black pussy?”
“I said, well thank you very much for asking but me and Don haven´t been too well lately”

See www.kevinholt.net

BLACKPOOL IN FEBRUARY! - "Well, You Stand More Chance Of A Deck Chair, Dont You!" - (Eddie Colinton 1986)

Heading for England´s west coast in the depths of winter midst some of coldest weather in 20 years isn´t everybody´s idea of a weekend away, but off I went anyway. My schedule was so tight (steady!) that I could only manage half an hour at my folk´s house in Guiseley, West Yorkshire before catching the next train to the Fylde Coast. The Leeds train from Manchester airport had been cancelled due to the fact they´d had a light smattering of sleet 3 days previously, so I´d had to divert to Manchester Picadilly station and board a grossly overloaded cattle truck whereby I spent the first half hour stood nose to nose with disgruntled red nosed commuters, before being the first to spot that an Indian woman was getting ready to get off at Huddersfield (I was already in her seat before she had chance to fully straighten).

I was greeted at Blackpool Station as I´d never been greeted before, at any station anywhere, by a police dog being encouraged to sniff at my nether regions by an officer who offered no explanation for this behaviour whatsoever. It seems that the dog approved of me and I was allowed to proceed from the platform with a slightly puzzled look and canine drool on my inside leg. Girlfriend Nikki was there to meet me bless her (that´s why I went there in the first place now I come to think of it), and as we approached the car park my teeth played a sort of tune as the ferocity of the cold air nearly bowled me over. That night we decided to partake of a couple at the local pub, which, since the tragic demise of “Uncle Tom´s cabin” is now a fairly substantial walk to “The Gynn”. They had a befuddled karaoke presenter in his 70´s who couldn´t sing a note so and so indulged himself with mock sword fights with drinking straws at the bar with startled customers while he waited for volunteer singers. We didn´t feel the urge to help him out.
Early next morning I decided upon a stiff walk before breakfast – it worked – it certainly stiffened me. I felt compelled toward the seafront, as the sky was clear and, as is most strange for these parts, there was not a hint of precipitation of any kind. I don´t know what the temperature was exactly but after about ten seconds of skirting foolishly with the gale off the Irish Sea, the wind whistled up my trouser leg, searched out my genitals and unceremoniously rammed them up somewhere between the tops of my lungs and my Adams apple. The muscles in the left hand side of my face contracted violently, shut one eye, opened the other and as I drew in my cheeks I had the very living breath sucked from within me which left me in a hideous pose something akin to Charles Lawton from The Hunchback Of Notre Dame. Bracing, I think you´d call it.
That night I watched Nikki perform in the “North Shore Working Men´s Club”, where she gallantly went on, did three 30 minute spots and was basically treated like the intermission for the bingo. Apparently she´d appeared there a couple of times before and on the last occasion the concert chairman had brought her on stage thus – “And now we´ve got a female vocalist coming on, I´ve never heard her – but apparently she´s alright”. That must have whipped the locals up into a frenzy. It was a great concert room though, with a spacious dance floor and a great big stage leftover from the glory days in the 60´s, like so many clubs however, they have fallen victim to the recession, the smoking ban and pub happy hours. The handful of people that were in there came in clutching their “dabbers” and clipboards and were treated to the seasoned double act of “Jack and Harry” – the Con. Sec/bingo ticket seller combo going through their tried and trusted act. Just for the record, I thought they were better than Mike and Bernie winters.

I am now beginning the huge task of planning the “Gorilla Walk”, so far all I´ve got is a starting date – 22nd June from Berwick-upon-Tweed – the finishing date is a little trickier to work out. For more details on this and lots more go to – www.kevinholt.net

Snow Joke

Hearing reports back home of the sort of weather we had ´when I were a lad`– does this mean that kids up and down the land were, for the first time witness to - snow coming over the tops of your ´wellies`, sledges, (preferably the home made variety – me grandad made mine), the rusty old shovel being extricated from its home in the potting shed, and chilblains? – I hope so, it´s about time. Of course across Europe this weather is common place and life goes on as normal, not in England though, instead schools close, pipes burst, the buses skid to a halt, the gritting lorry drivers phone in sick, and the train drivers don´t even bother getting out of bed – hurray! – the RIGHT kind of snow! – Even the London Underground shut up shop! – what!?
Mind you, we´ve had it pretty wild over here of late; last week saw some winds of cyclonic proportions wreaking havoc. Bus stops were blown away, pensioners held on to lamp posts, and somebody sneezed, knocked over an electricity pylon and burnt half the mountain down in Finistrat village.
One heart warming story this week amongst the doom and gloom of the recession is that Pontins are creating 2000 new jobs and are on the up and up! I am genuinely pleased about this, we used to go when I was a nipper and me and my sister loved it. So did my mum and dad, they had “chalet patrol” so us kids could be safely dumped into bed whilst dad supped himself stupid on “Double Diamond”, hitched up his trousers for the “Knobbly Knees” contest and came a creditable third in the “Silly Walk” competition. I achieved my lifetime ambition in 1986 when I became a “Bluecoat” at St. Marys Bay, Brixham down Devon way. – You can “Read all abaart it” in my book “Are You Affiliated?” under the chapter “I´m off To The English Riviera – Has anybody Seen My Coat?” available as a free download from my website www.kevinholt.net
Finally, it seems I´m on first name terms with the local tramp – I was walking home from the fruit and veg shop when I hears this “Ow! – Kev – have you got a minute?” I looked around for a while before I sees this cross between Moses and Uncle Albert from Only Fools And Horses uprooting himself from his cardboard mat and looking for the price of a bottle of cider (sorry – “cuppa”), I´ve never set eyes on him before but it didn´t stop him talking to me as if we had met in that same spot every day for the last 10 years. God knows how he knows my name – does this mean I´ve hit the big time?

Two More Gud Uns Down

A sad week in many ways, as the deaths of TV artist Tony Hart and BBC sport´s Mr. Smooth, David Vine were announced. This on the back of the demise of Oliver Postgate, (the creater and voice of The Clangers, Pogles Wood, and Noggin the Nog) last month, wipes out half of my entire childhood.
From early toddlehood and into my teens these three engaging characters played a big part in my life. “Vision On” was presented with a woman with a severe nervous twitch, or so it seemed to me, - it was some time, (as it was never clearly explained), before I realized the programme was aimed at deaf children and the “twitch” was actually sign language. The main protagonists of this programme were a mad professor type chap with a performing ginger tache called Wilf Lunn and the convivial Mr. Hart. Whether he be constructing a 180ft picture of a tractor on the Sussex hillside with a wheelbarrow full of matt emulsion or making prints in the studio using nothing but a half of a potato dipped in carrot juice, I found it spellbinding – he was the greatest Blue Peter presenter they never had – though interestingly he designed the logo for the programme! (That blue galleon ship thing). Also, I think he came runner up to Nicholas Parsons for the “continual wearer of a cravat on British television” category on the BAFTA awards in the early nineties.
Being a sports nut, David Vine was in our front room most days of the week, I particularly remember A Question Of sport in the halcyon days before they turned it into the class B situation comedy of later years, also he presented Superstars whereby sporting heroes of the day performed in sports in which they were less adept. As much as I loved this programme, in subsequent conversations I´ve had with fellow admirers, the only events anybody can remember is Judo man Bryan Jacks doing the “bar-dips” in the gym, some pole vaulter whom nobody had previously heard called Brian Hooper, being good at everything and Kevin Keegan falling off his bike. There was also boxer Alan Minter rowing into the rhododendrons in his kayak, but actually it is only me who can recall this classic. David Vine also presented the snooker, another great love of mine. And I remember thinking that he was lucky not to get Steve Davis´s cue rammed up his trouser leg when he stuck a microphone under his nose about 3 seconds after he´d just missed a simple black and thus handed Dennis Taylor the title of 1985 World Champion. He seemed to crop up on everything I watched including Wimbledon, The Olympics and Miss World, although he made a bit of an arse of himself on that by not understanding anything the contestants were saying to him. Subsequently Michael Aspel took over the role and fared much better – probably by insisting that they spoke English.

The Magic Of The Three Kings

Well, the Christmas festivities just go on and on and on, and the shops are shut again. Today is ‘Three Kings Day’ the morning of which, so tradition dictates, all good children of Spain wake up to their presents as left by the gentlemen from the east. It must be great therefore to be a kid over here having it drag on for so long, it begs the question however just who do Spanish kids think Father Christmas is? I mean he crops up on every advert, film and festive song for at least a month, - so just who do they think he is?? When I posed this question to girlfriend Nikki, (who is half Spanish) a couple of years ago, without missing a beat she says ‘Just some fat bastard from the north’. So that ends that debate then.
As it happens I was listening to a programme on Radio 4 a couple of weeks ago and according to the bible there is no mention whatsoever of ‘Three Kings’ or even wise men. The only description of these three (it doesn’t even say that they are all men) is that they are ‘Magi’ which directly translated means ‘magician’. So that’s it then, they were three conjurors on their way to a ‘gig’ when they were way laid and diverted by a star to attend a children’s party. It makes sense to me.
It would appear that the modern story of the three kings as we know today was written some centuries later, and it wasn’t until then that the story, i.e. three blokes, two white and one black rolled into town on camels (something else that was never mentioned in the bible). It is this scene that the Spanish re-enacted up and down the country last night, and I know having watched the parade here last year they make a terrific job of it. Interestingly they find it impossible to find dark skinned men of the correct religious persuasion to fulfil the roll of third king, so they have to get a white chap and black him up! – You can just imagine the horror back home at the very mention of this can’t you, but thankfully over here we don’t have some trumped up little councillor tapping us on our shoulders telling us how to live our lives. Viva Espana!