Paul B-oxing Day

Sunday February 6th - Paul B-oxing Day

By now you should be aware that I tend to get stuck in on my birthday and Paul B-oxing Day (The day after the event, Jesus-style) would prove to be no exception.

I arose, magnificently, around 1pm, to find Steve departed. I noticed he had not taken his stools. Some random had washed up a number of pots etc. and actually nothing looked too bad.

This is what's known as "Making light work of a huge amount of booze"

Lucy Longlegs and Crazy Simon were still asleep in the spare room/office/her dressing room. I made them a bacon sandwich, had a quick wash, dropped them off at the station just after their train had left and legged it round to my Mum's for lunch with her, Dad, my brother, his wife and their three children. It was delicious and I had a right laugh with the kids. At one point Matthew (the four year old) turned to his mother and said "Mummy - is Uncle Paul mental?".

I got home about half three and as if to prove little Matthew correct, began tidying up my flat. It was miraculously pain-free, considering the goings-on of the night before and a couple of sweeps round with the hoover, some glass washing and the filling up of bin liners with detritus had it back looking relatively ship shape. There's something beautiful about the aftermath of a party. Every stubbed out fag tells a story, every empty bottle a joke shared, every minor stain a major incident at the time.

I didn't have time for all this nonsense though - I had another gig to go to - this time the last of my festive run, in Chigwell. Only in its third show and struggling a little for numbers, I didn't want to further compound Stuart the owner's chagrin by being late. I was late. It didn't matter. He'd got 130 people booked in and it looked like being a cracker. Rob Heeney was on with me (Again) this time joined by the excellent Nick Wilty. I arrived about ten to eight with assistant manager Matt immediately dispatched to bring me Worthingtons or Caffreys. I'm afraid I don't know which way round but they appeared to alternate throughout the evening. Stuart asked me why I was wearing a silly hat. I told him it was because it hid my silly head. He didn't have an answer for that. It had however had an additional function - to detract his attention away from my new beard., which everyone else instead decided to notice, ignoring the hat. The beautiful receptionists were out in force but I had to settle for the ample charms of Kate & Sam (Trust me, it was no chore) for company as Katie Gibson (previous object of my dsesire) had been forced by evil Stuart to work on reception until 11pm. HE KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING.

Both comics arrived pretty much dead on showtime (8.30pm) but I never start until 8.45pm anyway so there was no problem. One problem was when the show DID start, I went on to compere and forgot all of my jokes. All of them. I also forgot to do the joke competition that I had in my pocket which was a guaranteed half-a-dozen laughs. I asked if there was anyone there from Chigwell. No-one answered. Odd, seeing as there were 130 people in the room and it was in Chigwell. Never mind I thought to myself (And said out loud) "We're in Essex - no-one admits to anything here". I struggled through ten minutes or so of incredulity and put Nick on. He fared far better - he'd remembered all of his jokes and everything.

The break came along and there were no fights over chicken dippers. This is always a relief.

Starting the second half was a breeze. I remembered all my jokes, remembered to do the joke competition and had a really good laugh with everyone. Rob went on and did a sterling job. He's been a great success all weekend and has been a good laugh off-stage to boot. We got a few more subscribers to the email list (no mean feat considering most of them won't even tell you where they live) and everyone left happy.

I have to say that the audience here are incredibly nice - quite possibly the best in Essex and that this has been achieved within three shows is nothing short of remarkable, really. I do have to thank everyone at the hotel for making this gig possible - with the exception of Leon the tedious French Chef however, who repeatedly challenges you to speak in French and then when you try it, tells you off for not being good enough. THIS IS IN ESSEX! He is very good at directions though - far better than Elaine the entertainments manager, who at the end of the night took me to the wrong floor to find my room.

This wasn't before Katie Gibson had shown up (albeit briefly) to tease and delight, the other Kate (very beautiful in her own right) had been challenged to flash her vagina (and failed) and the lovely Sam had been remarkably impressed that I remembered where she was from. I know I'm now forty one (or thirty eleven as I'm calling it this year) but I do have a few brain cells left.

Saying that, by the time I got to my room I'd got rid of a few more. There was absolutely nothing to watch on the TV but I fell asleep with it on, anyway.