Took the Husband to see Chris Rock on Saturday, at the Hammersmith Apollo. Having not been to a young-persons-popular-type-night-out-thingie for a longgggg time, I forgot that you have to queue for two hundred years, then queue again to get to the toilets. After that you sit in your hot, squashy, sweaty seat designed eighty years ago when we were all a lot thinner, standing up every six minutes to let people by to get beer, go for a wee, get more beer . . .
But it was worth it. Chris Rock is brilliant, even though he gets a bit unreconstructed when it comes to women. Thing is, that’s what ‘comics’ like Jim Davidson and that twat with the Biggles headgear don’t get. They’re always accusing their detractors of being ‘politically correct’ but that’s not the point. I don’t laugh at their material, not because of its lack of political correctness but because it’s Not Funny. Rock is very very funny.
Back down to earth now. I’m teaching creative writing at the Open University and I’m DROWNING in paperwork. The course hasn’t even started! I’m scared . . . .