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.

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"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.
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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”

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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