Exit, pursued by a Badger
So, ‘Show Me The Funny’ is over for me. But I did make it to the semi-finals, which isn’t bad for someone who asked if the ‘judge with the big hair and glasses’ was Dame Edna Everidge during the first gig.
I learnt a fair deal during the two months of filming, like ‘never give-up midway through a gig’, ‘don’t let nerves consume you’, and most importantly, ‘when embraced, Cannon or Ball are breast height’.
It’s certainly made me more fearless. I can’t imagine that any audience will ever give me the shitters in the way that one including Copstick’s brutal putdowns , Alan Davies’ paternal look of disappointment as well as ten cameras did. Unless they are all wasted squaddies, baying for boobs. Or worse still, e-numbered up teenagers, baying for… well, for boobs again.
Not to scare you or anything, but I feel compelled to point out that it can hardly be a coincidence that on the day when I get shafted from SMTF, Gaddafi’s regime falls.
These things happen in threes. If I were Jedward, I would be watching my back. (Or getting the other twin to watch it for me. Or asking Louie Walsh to.) Cos otherwise they too, may face a violent gun-fuelled over-throw attempt / a chest-based embrace with Bobby Ball’s ‘tache.