Santa’s Blog – Day 11


December 23 2013

Well here we are; the night before the big delivery night, which is my big Christmas night out. We had a brilliant evening planned at Northern Lights for their Open Mic comedy night and we’d been really looking forward to it. There was me and the missus; Frosty and Winona; Tinks and her boyfriend, Peter (strange fella – needs to grow up a bit if you ask me), and Alf and his boyfriend, Alan. We took Snow White along with us and all (don’t know how she hasn’t been snapped up yet, but I guess with the 7 littluns it must be hard finding someone ready for that kind of commitment) and drafted in Abominable for babysitting, He’s great with them, but we’ve told them not to let him near their rabbit no matter how much he pleads.

So we get there and of course Alphonse, the owner, had kept us the best table in the house and we’re all settled in nicely, thank you very much, for a lovely meal and a good laugh, when the first turn comes on, and it’s only that flippin’ O’Breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen fella from the cracker factory! God he was awful – about as funny as a lump in your ball bag, and from the audiences reaction about as welcome too. I think he’d styled himself on Bobby Davro – he was crap. His comedy was observational/tragic – he was looking for laughs but not finding any. His act went down like a cup of cold sick. About two minutes in he accidentally dropped his Mic. He would probably have gone down better if he’d left it on the floor. They say comedy is all about timing. His act was about twenty years too late. He made the Chuckle Brothers look sophisticated. Do you know the secret of good comedy? Neither did he…

Cutting to the chase, I was so P.O.’d I ended up drinking a little bit quicker than was good for me. It didn’t help when I got to the bar and Danny, the waiter, put a bloody shamrock on the top of my Guinness. Normally it wouldn’t bother me at all (at all!), but with that little piggy-faced nerk O’Breeeeeeen giving it large up on the stage it really got up my nose. Oi, I said, can I have a full pint please? If I wanted a half I’d ask for it? Well Danny just looked at me, blinking, and asked what I meant. So I gave him a little lecture on water displacement and pointed out that I was one shamrock short of a full pint. It was a bit OTT, I know, but I was not a Merry Santa. We all have our off days. Anyway, then Danny says I could have a Soco on the house to make up for it. I said; ‘Soco? Soco? What’s Soco when it’s at home?’ He said; ‘That’s what we call Southern Comfort.’ I said ‘That might be what you call it, but I call it cough syrup – If I wanted a glass of marmalade I’d ask for it!’ I settled for a Voto instead – that’s vodka and tonic to the likes of you and me. I apologised later, of course, and Danny was fine – thought ‘Voto’ was hilarious, actually.

Anyway, by this time Frosty had turned up to help me carry the drinks back. He could see how wound up I was about O’Breeeeeeeeeeeen, so suggested I should get my own back by going in for the Open Mic. So I did. And I told them everything I’ve just told you and then a bit about our summer holidays and a couple of golf jokes and – guess what? Yeah two hundred quid in prize money and free booze all night! Result or what?

Right, best get to bed – busy day tomorrow…

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