Stewart Lee is the best stand-up in the UK. He's been gigging up and down the country for 20-plus years and his recent resurgence, on the back of several successful stand-up tours, has secured him three series of The Stewart Lee Comedy Vehicle, a BBC TV series, which has won acclaim and awards and ensured him a new fanbase.
His current run at London's Leicester Square Theatre sees Lee testing out material for six 28-minute episodes of the fourth series of his TV show. The gig we saw featured four of these 28-minute slots and each one was fabulous.
Lee fans will recognise many of the delivery techniques and stylistic tropes employed, but Lee's such a brilliant performer and the construction of the narratives is so multi-layered and skilfully crafted that it's like catching up with an old friend whose quirks are endearing. And it's true that the old friend of Lee's comedy persona may also be a sarcastic, pseudo-intellectual and infuriated curmudgeon, but that's the deal.
It's about the sixth or seventh time we've seen Stewart Lee live and he never disappoints. He's fabulous.
I've wanted a new tattoo for a few years now. Then the Boy got a very cool bespoke design a few months ago and I got major tattoo envy. Of my son.
So, this week, I finally went under the needle.
I've always liked the idea of tattoos as life milestone markers on your body. I love the 'Goole' barcode on my left shoulder that the Missus bought me for my 30th birthday. It was the equivalent of human branding about the town where I'm from in East Yorkshire.
My new tattoo is similarly personal: it's an armband of my hapkido black belt.
I was awarded my black belt more than four years ago and it's an achievement I'm proud of. It was a nine-year journey from white to black and there were many challenges to overcome, not least being really bad at it for the first three years. For the first year and a bit of being a black belt, I also didn't really feel like one. Even though the belt was won by sweat, graft and constant application over limited ability, there was lengthy 'settling in' time.
I'm through that now and I feel as though I wear the belt and it doesn't wear me, so it finally felt appropriate to mark that particular milestone.
Inside the loops of the belt is a ying-yang symbol of two fighting wolves. This is a reference to a Native American Indian story.
The story involves a grandfather explaining to his grandson that his tribe believes a white wolf and a black wolf are locked in a constant battle for supremacy at the heart of every man and woman. The white wolf represents virtues such as compassion, love and sympathy, and the black wolf represents negative factors such as agressions, lust and anger. The grandson asks which wolf wins the fight. The grandfather replies: 'The one you feed...'
The story chimes with not only my hapkido journey but journeys in other areas such as my writing and my BJJ. To keep going, the white wolf generally has to win. But you do sometimes also need the black wolf. Starving him achieves nothing and you sometimes need the so-called 'negative' qualities that the black wolf is supposed to represent.
In fact, the longer version of this story isn't about starving the black wolf at all. That's the version adopted by the religious right in the US. The Native American Indian version of this story is about keeping the two wolves existing in harmony with each other and not starving or over-feeding either.
I love my new tattoo. It's not about announcing to the world that I am a black belt and I'm a very hard or an amazingly skilled martial artist. It's about marking a journey, celebrating overcoming difficulties and not giving in. It's also about being in a place where I feel balanced with my life.
I was cycling to visit a tattoo parlour in Kings Cross last week when I chanced upon an optician's shop. Bearing in mind its location, it has a name of genius proportions... Kings Cross Eyes.
This is a real thing. I am not making it up for comedy purposes. I have even found a picture (above).
Me and the Missus hosted our annual BBQ last weekend and we managed to feed about 50 guests without poisoning anyone. The predicted rain storm also held off and the Boy visited for the weekend, too, so he ended up helping out with the cooking duties.
I had one slight moment of fear when I realised I was only going to get one shot at lighting the BBQ, but that soon passed when the fire caught and it roared into life. The two standout moments of the weekend, though, were both child-related.
The first involved the son of friends, who is our guideson/godson. They were short on options at the time. He's at the age where he's not old enough to be a teenager, but too old to hang with the rest of the kids. so he spent most of the day helping me and the Boy out with the cooking. It wasn't until about three hours into this arrangement that I realised I was essentially outsourcing my cooking duties by using child labour. I'm obviously more in touch with the corrupt Tory Government than I thought.
The other moment involved the Boy. For years, I tried to encourage him to do martial arts but he never really bothered. He was even less bothered when I needed a body to drill techniques on.
Recently, however, he's started doing kung-fu and he's really loving it. So I was delighted when he uttered the words: 'Come out into the garden. We'll spar!'
I was beyond happy. It was a moment of male bonding between stepfather and stepson. I think he recognised it because he smiled. I smiled, too. There was a moment of recognition. A moment of genuine affection. Then I knocked the shit out of him.
I obviously didn't do that last thing.
My route to work has a new feature. This is a middle-aged, homeless man, who sits near a carpark that I cut through most days.
He looks quite well dressed and he's also very clean shaven. I fear, however, he is lacking in work ethic. He simply sits there and never engages anyone in conversation. I walked by yesterday and he was reading Metro and sipping a latte. Today, I walked by and he was on his mobile phone.
I worry that such behaviour means he is not eliciting much sympathy from me and many other passers-by. I don't think he's got the hang of his new career at all...
The Missus started doing ceramics about three and a half years ago and
her technique and her work are improving at an impressive speed. It's wonderful to see she's found her 'thing'. What I get from martial arts, she gets from pottery.
Part of her new-found love means we visit various exhibitions by ceramic artists and, last weekend, we headed to the Turner Gallery in Margate to visit the Grayson Perry exhibition, Provincial Punk.
There was so much brilliant stuff at this exhibition, but one of my favourite things was a speeded-up film showing Perry creating a couple of hand-built coil pots from start to finish, then being able to see the same pots in the exhibition.
Perry is a fascinating, articulate and inspiring artist. I love
the idea that he started doing pottery because it was seen as a bit 'naff'
and he thought he could use hand-built pots or craft stuff like
tapestries as quiet smart bombs, whose challenging content is smuggled
in via a seemingly uncontroversial form.
I thought Perry's Reith Lectures were wonderful when they went out a few years ago. I've now seen a lot of his work and I genuinely think he's equally wonderful, too.
The Other Woman is annoyed. She has had a few days off work and, while she's been off, one of her colleagues has had a stress-related incident... and virtually left.
'It's strange, isn't it?' she ponders over a post-training drink in the pub. 'You've met two of my work colleagues and, within a few weeks of meeting you, they've both had breakdowns of some variety.'
'What are you saying?' I inquire.
'That meeting you is enough to drive most normal people over the edge...'
I think this a little harsh and I point out that they have also been working with her for quite some time by now, and that could be a factor, too.
Apparently, this is not helpful...
