A huge part of being an actor is unemployment and after Sunday’s performance somehow I have found myself with no acting to do. I pretty much expected my phone to be red hot on Monday morning with very important people from The RSC, The BBC or at least www.theshopsitcom.co.uk all begging me to star in their latest production alongside Christopher Eccleston and Gary Wilmot but nothing has happened. My phone is definitely working. I’ve checked it. A lot. In fact, I just checked my phone again. It is still working. Not even BBC3.
So, while I’m resting between jobs I thought I’d cast an eye at my old job of sort of being a comedian. Basically, I sat in the sofa in my pants holding onto my phone and watched The British Comedy Awards. It wasn’t easy but I did it.
I have always loved Graham Linehan’s work. He’s an incredible writer. Even if the only thing he ever wrote was that bit in Black Books when the man explaining how the new security door worked had a Subuetteo player in his hair he would still be an incredible genius. I didn’t think I could love him any more than I do and, once again, I was wrong.
Peter fucking Kay won an award for his outstanding contribution to comedy despite not contributing to comedy for about 8 years. Another baffling achievement for the cheeky roly-poly TV cunt. Before getting the award the camera caught his reaction to the goings on of the awards ceremony about 5 or 6 times. He looked miserable. Like he hated being there. I don’t blame him. I would hate sitting in the middle of a room where every time someone walks past me they mumble the word shithouse. No matter how often that happens to me I still can’t seem to emotionally build up a wall against it. I know exactly how Peter Kay, the shithouse, feels. Then he won his award and got up in front of his peers to receive it. He said something along the lines of “Yeah. Cheers. Thanks. Bye”. Then he left.
Still, it’s more than he’s done for years so comparatively that was a massive amount of work for the staggeringly rich, lazy shithouse. He got applause for his win and even for his shrug of a speech. Later, Graham Linehan got up to accept his Ronnie Baker Writer's Guild of Great Britain Award. The room stood on its feet. There was applause and cheers, as there rightly should be. Peter fucking Kay got some respect but Linehan got adoration. He looked embarrassed and uncomfortable at the display of love that everyone in the room gave his work but when it came to his speech he started with a joke about getting a standing ovation. “I suppose I should apologise to Peter Kay”, he said and I loved him.
Of course, it would have been even better if Peter Kay had actually been in the room but he’d got his award and I never saw him on the screen again. He’d fucked off back to Bolton to shop in Morrisons, say “t’internet” and remember things from the before time.
Have to say that the awards didn’t quite fuck me off like I assumed it would. Of course Stewart Lee didn’t win. He hadn’t a chance. He’s easily the best in the category so there’s no way on Earth that he could ever, ever win. Ever. I’ve never seen Outnumbered but the people winning seemed nice and, unlike a certain cheeky roly-poly TV cunt, grateful so that was nice. TV Burp won a couple and rightly so and Terry Wogan was given a lifetime achievement award. That’s all fine, in my book. Sadly, I didn’t see the ITV2 aftershow show where apparently Kevin Bishop does an impression of Horne & Corden. Surely that has caused a rift in the space/time continuum.
I really need to see that.
I would write more but I am currently sat next to a screaming woman.