Comedian and Folk Singer. Winner Edinburgh’s Spirit of the Fringe 2024, Best Variety Show Leicester Comedy Festival 2024, Nominee Best Show Edinburgh Fringe 2024. As heard on BBC Radio 4’s “The Now Show” and seen on “Rosie Jones’s Disability Comedy Extravaganza”. From three-time BBC Radio 2 Folk Award winning band The Young'uns.
The audio part of this challenge has failed, thanks to the Edinburgh Pleasance Theatre’s woeful Internet speed. I left my laptop running for the entirety of yesterday’s gig, but when I came back to it after the gig, the audio still hadn’t uploaded. I did manage to get the written version published though, so I’ve still managed to publish a blog every day of this year.
Technology also failed me during the gig. As we came on the stage for the second half, I placed my digital recorder down on the stage in front of me, but it toppled over and the memory card came out. While Sean was introducing the next song, I tried to restart the recording, but the recorder had completely stopped working. I tried the on/off switch repeatedly, but nothing happened. Taking the batteries out didn’t help either, neither did taking out the memory card. I thought about trying to record on my mobile phone, but I’d already spent five minutes of the gig faffing around with the digital recorder to no avail, and I didn’t really want to faff around any more and impair the gig, which was going exceptionally well. The gig was certainly the best of the tour so far, and there would have been quite a lot of material for the podcast. I did explain to the audience that the recorder had stopped working, and joked that I hoped the gig would be rubbish and boring, as it would be a waste if only 130 people got to hear it. While this was a joke, there was a small part of me who actually meant it. Every time something funny or interesting happened in the gig, I was filled with a mixture of gladness that the gig was going so well, but annoyance that the gig was going so well and that it wouldn’t be going on the podcast. I hoped that someone in the audience would record it, but no one came up to me after the gig to say that they had. Again, it’s all take take take with The Young’uns fans. So unfortunately, you will never get to hear what happened when Michael took off all his clothes, or when that lion suddenly bounded onto the stage and Sean heroically wrestled it to the floor and then we pacified it with a ballad. But, never mind.
Towards the end of the gig, Irish brought the three of us a beer onto the stage. Apparently, this angered the bar staff, because we were drinking beer that wasn’t sold at the bar, but was the complimentary beer provided by the people who organised the gig. The organiser of the gig came to us after our performance and apologetically asked us if we could leave our beers in the dressing room and not take it into the theatre when we go and meet people, because the bar staff had been giving him quite a bit of grief.
Apparently, one of the people running the bar was so annoyed that he was considering coming onto the stage and taking the beers from us, but someone talked him out of it. If he had come onto the stage then I would be pretty annoyed, not because of the barman’s attitude, but because it would have been hilarious and I’d be massively pissed off if it happened and we didn’t get a recording of it for the podcast.
It seemed a bit odd though to be churlish about three people on stage drinking beer that wasn’t bought at the bar, considering that we’d brought 130 people to their venue, who were buying drink from them. I doubt that the barman would have been very popular if he marched onto the stage and took the drinks off us. It’s not as if it could happen without us making reference to it. We’d probably have gotten him to explain himself over the microphone, which would have probably been rather awkward, and I don’t think he’d ingratiate himself to anyone. I think though, not wanting to create a hostile atmosphere, I’d probably get him to join in with one of our songs, which I think he’d find even more awkward. If he refused then he’d look like a massive party pooper and it would consolidate his position as a bit of a nob, whereas if he joined in, it would be difficult for him to simultaneously be singing while being angry, and it would make a mockery out of his annoyance. So I think he made the wise decision to moan in relative privacy.
Despite the recorder malfunction, I was in a good mood. The gig had gone really well, and also Jenny, the girl with health problems who featured in my positivity experiment Dollop, came to the gig. She did not, however, shout out any Dollop-related heckles or attempt to start any Dollop-based chants, but perhaps she was intending to, but then realised that if she had done it then I would be annoyed that the incident hadn’t been recorded. I am going to give her the benefit of the doubt. However, the recorder seems to have started working now, so there’s no excuse for any of you coming to Sheffield.
We’re doing two gigs in Sheffield today, because the first one sold out so quickly. So we’re doing two full 90 minute performances in the same venue, one in the afternoon and another in the evening. We drove to Hartlepool after the gig last night, as it was the halfway point between Edinburgh and Sheffield, and we didn’t fancy a six hour drive late at night straight after our gig. We didn’t get to sleep until about 3am, and we were up at 830. So it’s going to be a long day with two 90 minute gigs. Hopefully we can recreate the magic of Edinburgh, and you free loaders can then enjoy it on The Young’uns Podcast at some point soon.
It’s finally happened. Someone who saw us for the first time at our short free afternoon gig at the Robert Gillow pub in Lancaster has contacted us to say that they have set up a Young’uns Wikipedia page. She enjoyed the gig so much that she immediately went on the Internet to find our Wikipedia page, keen to learn more about us. But, because none of our so-called fans have been committed enough to set one up, she was unable to read about us on Wikipedia. So she decided to set one up herself. When I got this message I was a bit unsure of how accurate her article would be, given that she’d absolutely no idea about us, hence why she’d searched for us on Wikipedia. But she had clearly done her research. It’s quite a short article, with just the basic facts, but she has cited quite a few references, included some quotes, added all the links to the various things she’s cited, and included a discography. Hopefully her efforts will be the catalyst for others to join in and add more. You can find the article here.
When I searched for the Young’uns article, one of the related searches that popped up on Wikipedia’s results was, David Eagle. Upon entering on this it brought up a list of David Eagle’s. I was listed at the very top, described as “David Eagle, English singer with The Young’uns.” I didn’t actually have a Wikipedia page, but for some reason I am still recognised by Wikipedia, and am listed above the David Eagles who do have actual Wikipedia articles. So if you haven’t bought a ticket for a gig on our tour and are feeling a bit guilty, you can make amends by adding to the Young’uns recently added Wikipedia -page, and/or create one about me. Come on, I don’t ask you for much do I? All I’ve ever asked of you is to shout out dollop-related chants at Young’uns gigs in order to force me into pretending to be all embarrassed about having to explain David’s Daily Digital Dollop to the audience, giving me free promotion, without it seeming like I’ve been arrogant enough to talk about it on my own volition. And if you happen to know any eighteen-year-old girls from Hartlepool that I can impregnate in order to help get my home town back to the top of the teenage pregnancy league, knocking Burnley off the top spot, then you can help me out with that too. And I’d like you to create a David Eagle Wikipedia page. Those three things are all I want from you. Oh, and your body.
The free Robert Gillow pub gig also yielded another interesting result. We were contacted by someone who writes and records grime music, a UK variant of hiphop. He was really taken with the subjects covered in our songs, talking about social issues and our local area, telling real people’s stories. These are the things that he portrays in his music, and this is true with the Grime scene in general. He writes and raps about the same things as we do, only we have chosen different genres of music to express these ideas. He was so inspired by our performance in the pub that he immediately started writing a new song, inspired by our song You Won’t Find Me On Benefits Street, about Stockton’s defiant opposition to being negatively stigmatised by the Channel 4 reality TV show. He wants to use a sample of it in his song, and he sent us the lyrics he wrote after our gig. It’s a very different approach to the way we structure a song, for a start there’s a lot more swearing, but the lyrics were really good. It’ll be interesting to see what comes of this, and hopefully he’ll get it recorded and we can play it and chat with him on The Young’uns Podcast. We’ve only done one free community event so far on this tour, but it’s already brought us into contact with people who wouldn’t ordinarily access our music, and who we wouldn’t ordinarily meet in an arts centre or folk club.
Perhaps our Grime friend will find these Dollops and become inspired to create a Grime concept album around the subject matter covered in these blogs. I think he could do a really good hiphop, profanity laden take on my malfunctioning kettle. I’m sure the kids will love that. He might also be able to help me reach a younger audience, meaning that more legal aged teenage girls from Hartlepool will become aware of who I am, and thus it will further my noble impregnation cause. It’s all fitting into place. Perhaps this is yet another sign from God. I am being given a second chance after my failure to take the opportunity that was presented to me earlier in the week when I was speaking to a load of Hartlepool college students. I dare not fritter away this new opportunity, lest I should properly anger God this time. Of course, there is a chance that if I did squander this opportunity then God would forgive me again, but there is an equal chance that he might be angered so much that he decides to smite me. There is just no knowing with God. He is clearly a complex character. At one point in the bible, he’s telling us that he’s an all-loving, forgiving God, and then mere pages later he tells us that he’s a jealous and vengeful God. I think God is probably bipolar, after all, he did create a planet that’s bipolar, and perhaps his idea to incorporate both a North and South pole on his planet was a kind of subtle cry for help. You might think that this is the most ridiculous, and feebly contrived idea, but then I’d counter that view by reminding you that God works in mysterious ways, which surely just makes the ridiculousness work to give the idea more plausibility? Think on that, unless you’ve got something better to be doing, in which case you should probably go and do that.
Support for this tour comes from Irish Mythen, who Young’uns Podcast listeners may remember from the interview and session we did with her in Kansas last year. She was due to fly in to Manchester from Canada on Monday, a couple of days before the start of the tour, but then she got a blood clot in her kidneys which meant she couldn’t fly until Wednesday. To be honest, I think she just fancied a couple of days off her relentless touring schedule and so dredged up the old all-too-familiar blood clot in the kidneys excuse; we’ve all done it at least once. I don’t know just how gullible she thinks we are.
This meant that she missed Wednesday’s Grantham gig. She’d probably got wind of the fact that she wouldn’t be allowed to drink on stage, which Irish always does, and so decided to wheel out the old trusty kidney blood clot line. She’s also got a thing about covering light shades, so it might have been that as well. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, Irish. Oh yes, she also has a thing for covering eyes as well as light shades; not sure what that’s all about, she is weird.
Her new flight was due to arrive in Manchester at 11am yesterday. The plan was for Michael to pick up the hire car from Manchester airport, pick Irish up from the airport and take her to the Robert Gillow pub in Lancaster, which was where our first community event of the tour was taking place.
We dropped Michael off at the Sheffield train station, and then drove The Young’uns van back to Sean’s, while Michael took a train to Manchester Airport. However, no sooner had the train pulled away, he got a call from Irish informing him that she had missed her flight to Manchester because her flight to Heathrow had been delayed. The next possible flight she could get to Manchester would get her in at 5pm. Michael was due to arrive at the airport for 11am. So Michael was now heading to the airport to pick someone up who wasn’t going to be there for another six hours. He couldn’t just wait at the airport until 5pm, as he had to be at the pub in Lancaster for 1pm. He had no choice but to pick up the hire car, which Irish had paid for but was unable to drive for insurance reasons, and drive to Lancaster. But that didn’t solve the problem of how we were going to get Irish to the gig.
Mark, the landlord of the Robert Gillow Pub is an inspirational man. He is one of these people who makes the pub the heart of the local community, so much more than just a place that sells lager, has a fruit machine and Sky Sports. It serves quality ale and food and has music and entertainment on everyday, including hosting the local folk club and lots of other music nights supporting local performers. But this is just one factor that makes his pub the heart of the local community, because serving quality beer and food and putting on music nights is what a good pub does. When the floods hit the area last year, he opened up his pub to everyone and served free non-alcoholic drinks and food to people, and created sleeping spaces for people who’s homes had been flooded. His pub continues to serve free food and non-alcoholic drinks to anyone who wants it, and works on a trust basis whereby those who can afford it will pay, but those who can’t can have something to eat and drink and somewhere warm to go.
It was a great way to start our run of community events. The pub was full of people, and there was a nice mix of pub regulars who’d not heard of us before, and people who’d come especially because they knew we were on. The event also seemed to fit with the ethos of the landlord and his pub, as we were doing a gig for free, possibly playing to some people who might not feel they have the money to spend on going to an arts centre to watch a gig.
The atmosphere was really friendly and everyone seemed to really enjoy us. We’d been a bit on edge at our Grantham gigs because of the new songs and it being the first day of the tour, but the friendly atmosphere of the pub meant that we were able to fully relax and just let rip and have lots of fun. They’d set up a PA for us, but we decided to just do it unplugged and unaccompanied, as the acoustics were great and it would feel much more intimate than standing on the stage area in front of mics. Everyone seemed to really enjoy it, and people weren’t afraid to shout out and join in, in a good and friendly way I mean.
We played for about twenty-five minutes. I’m mentioning this in case there is anyone reading who is getting annoyed that they paid £14 to see us in an arts centre, when they could have just seen us in a pub for free. It was only twenty-five minutes, and we didn’t do any songs with instruments, plus we deliberately made a couple of mistakes in every song, to make sure that these none-paying listeners weren’t getting as polished an experience as you. We also spat at them as well, so don’t worry about being cheated out of your money. I hope that has eased your troubled mind.
After the pub gig, Michael rushed off to get Irish from Manchester Airport. It was a gamble, because we were on stage in Kendal at 830 and Irish started at 8. Irish’s flight was due at 5, but then she’d have to get her luggage and get out of the airport, which could easily take half an hour. Michael would then have to drive from Manchester Airport, through rush hour Manchester traffic to Kendal in time for our gig. It should be easily doable, unless the traffic was really bad. One traffic jam though, and the whole evening could potentially go up in smoke, like a light shade in a pyromaniac’s dressing room in Grantham. The other option was for Irish to get the train. But this would mean that she would definitely miss another gig, as the train wouldn’t get in until 8.
But, Irish’s flight arrived on time, there was no traffic jam, and so they got to the gig with about an hour to spare. Michael seemed surprisingly fresh and lively, considering he’d been driving so much today. Normally he gets quite tired after long driving sessions. Could it be that it might be sharing a van with me and Sean that’s grinding him down, rather than the actual driving? No, of course not.
Last night’s gig in Kendal was really enjoyable. The new songs felt familiar and I was much more relaxed than last night. There was more audience interaction than Grantham too, with people feeling relaxed enough to join in, shout out, sing along and heckle.
Talking of heckling, the other two were a bit nervous at the start of the tour that these Dollops might result in people shouting out odd Dollop-related heckles, which would confuse the general Young’uns fans, who aren’t clever enough to have started reading or listening to these daily blogs. But this hasn’t happened yet. If you are coming to any of the gigs on this tour, then please feel free to randomly shout out Dollop-related phrases, such as, “pissing dog-lady,” “I wouldn’t imagine it would taste very nice,” or maybe try and get a chant of “kettles, kettles, kettles” going. It will amuse me, annoy the other two, confuse a lot of the stupid none-dollop readers, and also I will be forced into a situation where I’ll have to pretend to be all embarrassed and talk about the David’s Daily Digital Dollop project, thus giving me free promotion.
We’re in York today. Sadly, there is no community event taking place in the afternoon. We tried to get in touch with Bull Lane Mosque, which is where the biscuits, tea and football gesture to the English Defence League Protesters occurred. They are fund raising to build a proper mosque, because they are currently worshipping in a community centre. We thought that we could maybe do a short performance as part of one of their fund raising events, and also this would give the people responsible for the biscuits and tea incident to hear the song we’d written about it. We tried phoning, emailing and sending a letter with a copy of the cD featuring the song, but we heard nothing back. I suggested maybe trying to get their attention by pretending to be English defence League members. Then we could turn up at the community centre at worship time, and we’d be immediately invited in for tea and biscuits. Then we could reveal our true identity, sing them a few songs and help them raise some money. It’s a fool proof plan, but for some reason the other two didn’t agree.
The good news is that this has given me more free time today, meaning that I’ve been able to spend a couple of hours perfecting this amazing Dollop that you’re currently reading. If you’ve enjoyed this Dollop, then you have the Islamic community of York to thank. Conversely, if you’ve found this Dollop too lengthy and long-winded, complain to the people at the Bull Lane Mosque, although, chances are they won’t reply, unless you’re prepared to stand outside there posing as an English defence League member, in which case expect a hearty welcome.
The tyranny of Thatcher seems to still loom large over her home town of Grantham, or at least at the Guildhall Arts Centre anyway. There were signs up all over the place listing various venue rules. There were a number of notices on display in our dressing room. One of them told us not to hang things on the light shades. Presumably this was because it could be a fire hazard, although it didn’t specify this, so maybe it was purely for aesthetic reasons. Perhaps the venue is run by someone with obsessive complsive disorder, and covered light shades might sent them into an uncontrolable rage.
Another sign said that alcohol is not permitted on or around the stage. Again, there is no reason given for this. Also, it doesn’t specify what it means by “on or around,” which seems quite vague. Often the venue will provide a few complimentary bottles of beer or someone from the venue will ask us if we want a drink from the bar, but this didn’t happen last night. So maybe alcohol is not even allowed in the dressing room, as it falls under the remit of “around the stage.” We don’t drink alcohol on stage anyway, but there are many performers who do, especially in the folk world. Would the venue relax the rule for these performers? After all, it might negatively impact on the gig.
If the rule was in place for health and safety reasons then it seems a bit strange that other venues don’t seem to have this restriction in place. If they are worried about liquid being spilled and damaging equipment then surely they should ban all liquid from the stage, including water, although this would be ridiculous. It could just be that the place is run by puritanical oddballs who also have strict views on appropriate light shade dressing. But the actual staff at the venue were very friendly, and didn’t seem to be the kind of people who would be bothered about such trivial nonsense. Maybe they’ve had a traumatic experience with a performer who has pyromania, who hung a highly flammable fabric over the light shades and then doused it with alcohol. In which case I understand their fears, but I am willing to bet that as long as they didn’t invite that particular performer back again, then this shouldn’t ever be an issue in the future. If they did invite the arsonist back again, then I think it’s safe to say that his fire fetish is probably going to manifest itself in a similar disastrous outcome, and I doubt that a written notice is going to stop him.
I could have questioned the venue staff about this, but I wasn’t really that bothered, given that I didn’t want any alcohol, nor was I particularly fussed about hanging things from light shades. Also, I didn’t want to come across as an arrogant prat. And I was preoccupied with the evening’s gig, as it was the first of our UK tour and there were a lot of new songs that we’d never performed in public before. We were all a bit on edge because of the unfamiliar repertoire, plus it’s been awhile since we’ve done a UK gig. However, the gig seemed to go really well.
Hopefully I’ll be able to still maintain the David’s Daily Digital Dollop challenge during this tour. I managed to succeed while in Australia, in spite of patchy Internet and busyness. This tour is going to be a lot busier than Australia. Last year we put a post on our Facebook and Twitter accounts, asking people to come up with names for this tour. The winning name was Three For All, which we thought fitted what we do quite well, given that our songs are about equality and acceptance, and the name also seemed to make a statement about our music being for everyone. We then had the idea to live up to the tour’s name a bit more by bringing our music out to people beyond the venue setting. So we are going to be doing loads of community events during the day time, which will see us playing to people who probably would never come across our music, whilst also helping some really worthwhile causes.
Usually we spend most of the day on tour driving and killing time until the gig, but we’re going to be really busy during the days with these various events. And then on top of that I’ll be writing and recording these Dollops. It’s a hard life and you should feel sorry for me. To be honest, I don’t know what these junior doctors are making such a fuss about; they should try being a folk singer who does charitable community events in the day time, gigs at night, whilst maintaining a daily blog and podcast on the Internet. Yeah, exactly, suck on that, junior doctors. Actually, best not, sucking on it will probably result in you getting a nasty infection, although I suppose with your medical knowledge you’d probably be able to treat yourselves, that’s if you’re not too lazy to do so of course. Right Mr Hunt? How’s that for biting satire? Don’t worry, you can probably get some ointment to treat any satire-related bites. Ask your Doctor, who might help you, if they can be arsed.
Today has been another day of logistical craziness and upheaval. But I’ll talk about that tomorrow.
While waiting in the barbers a couple of days ago I received a phone call from a number I didn’t recognise.
“Hello David Eagle, before you say anything, please do not swear, you are on loud speaker and there is a class of college students listening.”
I was rather taken aback. Firstly I had no idea why I’d be on loud speaker with a class of college students listening. Secondly, I was a bit freaked out by the timing of this phone call, as I’d just been thinking about ideas for that day’s Dollop and had literally just come up with my idea to get Hartlepool back to top of the teenage pregnancy league by having sex with as many legal aged teenage girls as I could. And no sooner had I had this thought, I was receiving a phone call from a voice I didn’t recognise, telling me that I was now on the phone to a class full of college students, which would contain the exact demographic I’d just been thinking about having sex with. Could this be a sign from the beyond? An instance of divine intervention? God really does work in mysterious ways.
As the person on the phone continued to talk, I realised who it was. It was my friend Matthew from school, who I’ve not spoken to for about a year. He works as a music teacher in a college in Teesside. He went on to explain that the class were talking about having a career in music, and he’d decided on a whim, with no prior warning given to me, that he would call me up to talk to his class over the phone.
He asked me if I was free to say a few words to his class. There were still quite a few people before me to get their hair cut, so I had the time, although I had no idea what I was meant to say. My mind wasn’t really focused on talking to students, given that only seconds earlier I’d been musing about having sex with the very kind of people I was now about to talk to in an educational capacity. This now made such thoughts seem improper, as I would be abusing my position as a teacher, even though I’d never asked to be put in this position and had no idea that this was going to occur.
I spent about ten minutes on the phone, answering questions about being a professional musician, while I sat in the barbers. Goodness knows what the other people in the barbers must have thought. I probably sounded very pretentious, especially when one of them asked me what it was like to be famous. She seemed to sound genuine, but I couldn’t believe that she actually was. Rather than answering the question in a slightly self-deprecating manner, correcting her about the notion that I was in anyway famous, which I am not, I asked her if she had heard of me and if she really knew who I was. I asked this because I was surprised that she seemed to view me as someone who was famous, but to anyone else overhearing me in the barbers, it must have made me sound even more pretentious and up myself, asking, “do you know who I am? Have you heard of me?” The girl said that she had heard of me, and that she’d been at our sage gig last year. I was intrigued to know how many of the other students I was talking to had heard of me, and was just about to ask. “Give me a cheer if you’ve heard of me.” But then I came to my senses and realised how arrogant and pompous that would sound, both to the students and the other customers in the barbers. So I refrained from letting my curiosity get the better of me.
After about ten minutes, my old school friend who I very rarely speak to and haven’t seen for about five years, thanked me for my time and I got a thank you and a round of applause from the students. A few minutes later I got a message from him thanking me again for chatting to his students without advanced warning. “I owe you one,” he said. I thought about messaging him back and explaining my teenage pregnancy campaign, and to enquire whether his “one” that he owed me could possibly come in the form of a teenage girl from Hartlepool, as there was bound to be one of them in his class. But I stopped myself. I hope that God or whatever divine power is wanting me to do this isn’t too angry with me.
I’m writing this Dollop in the Young’uns van. Our UK tour starts today. We’ve just been to BBC Radio Lincolnshire to do a show, before we head to Grantham to do our first gig of the tour. If you haven’t got tickets yet for one of the gigs then there are still a few left for most of the gigs on the tour. It would be good to be able to sell all the venues out, both to satisfy my ego and also to get me a bit more money which I’ll be needing in order to pay my exorbitant child maintenance fees.
I called the bank yesterday in order to transfer some money to someone. When the man on the phone had done my transfer, he asked me why I’d chosen to use telephone banking today, instead of doing it online, which, he pointed out, can often be more convenient and quicker? I told him that I didn’t have my card reader with me as I was in Hartlepool, not Sheffield. He said that he could send me another card reader in the post to my Hartlepool address, so I could have a reserve one if I ever wanted to transfer money while I was at my dad’s house, and this would mean that I wouldn’t need to use telephone banking. I thanked him for his concern, but informed him that I much prefer speaking to a human, as it is often less stressful than doing it online. “Well just to let you know sir that we have made improvements to our online banking facilities and many of our customers do prefer the service, finding it much more efficient and quicker than telephone banking.”
I found this quite an odd conversation to be having, baring in mind he worked in telephone banking. He was essentially talking down his service, and talking his way out of a job. Fair enough, he might be required to mention the online banking option, but it seemed a bit strange to be bigging it up so much, whilst dissing his own job. I’m not sure why I’ve just started talking street. Perhaps I am subconsciously trying to sound more like a yoof in order to be able to interact more effectively with all these eighteen-year-old girls I’m going to be meeting next month, not that I’ll have much time to waste talking with them; idle chit chatting time will eat in to the time that I could be having sex, which is, after all, the fundamental purpose of the exercise. (see yesterday’s Dollop if you’re confused. You really should try and keep up though.)
Or maybe this wasn’t an edict from management, and he actually just had massive self-esteem issues. At the end of the call he asked if I would be willing to take part in an anonymous customer service survey to rate his call with me today. Apparently it would only take about five minutes of my time. He’d just told me that people prefer to do online banking because it’s quicker, and now here he was suggesting that I spent another five minutes voluntarily on the phone to the bank. Was this yet another ploy from management to annoy people so much with their telephone banking service that they decided to do it online in future? My telephone banking experience had been completely stress-free, quick and highly efficient; it had taken less than five minutes to make my transfer. But then I’d spent an extra two minutes on the phone with the man, justifying why I’d chosen to use his service above another one which would essentially one day make him redundant. And now I was being asked to spend another five minutes on the phone, answering questions about the last five minutes.
I was worried that I might never get off the phone, as I might be connected to the person conducting the customer service survey, who then asks me why I’d chosen not to take the survey online, before inviting me to do another survey rating her call. I might spend the entire day being put through to people at the bank in order to rate the last person’s conversation with me, until eventually there are no more staff left to take my call and I end up being connected to the first person I was talking to who’d originally done my bank transfer all those hours ago.
“Aren’t you the person I was talking to right at the start who did my transfer?”
Yes, I’ve just been moved over to the survey side of the telephone banking operation, as I’ve been made redundant from the actual proper banking part of the telephone banking service due to everyone choosing to do their banking online. Anyway sir, I just need to ask you a few questions about the last call you had with my colleague who was asking you to rate the call with my colleague who you were talking to before that, and then I’ll pass you onto my other colleague who’ll ask you to rate your call with me.”
“But I’ve already rated your call?!”
“Yes but that was you rating my service earlier when I was doing your transfer. You haven’t yet rated my administering of the customer service survey.”
“You know what, I think I will bank online after all. Goodbye.”
“We knew you’d see sense in the end sir.”
But fortunately that didn’t happen, as it was an automated machine voice doing the survey. However, this was just as annoying as the scario I invented in the last paragraph, because the automated machine voice wanted me to speak in full sentences to it, even though it didn’t seem intelligent enough to actually understand them. I didn’t want to crush the man’s self-esteem even more by declining the offer to do the customer service survey, so I agreed, but after five minutes of trying to talk to a stupid, annoying machine about how stress-free my telephone banking experience was, I ironically began to get very stressed. The phone conversation with the human had been fine, but this was beginning to drive me insane. I gave up and put the phone down.
I then went to get my hair cut. The barber asked me how long it had been since I’d last been to the barbers. I told her that it was about two months, to which she told me that two months was far too long a time to go without having a hair cut, and that people should be going to the barbers every fortnight in order to keep their hairstyle as good as it was when they first got it cut. This is a woman who knows how to talk up her job. The man from telephone banking could learn from this lady; although there is absolutely no way I am going to get my hair cut every fortnight. I will be far too busy impregnating eighteen-year-old girls for that, and to be honest, With the amount of stress that my marathon impregnation sessions are no doubt going to cause me, I will probably start losing my hair pretty swiftly anyway.
I’ve just checked Google, and it turns out I was wrong when I said yesterday that Hartlepool was the teenage pregnancy capital of Britain. I believe that this used to be the case, but we seem to have now been beaten by Burnly. Damn! We are no longer the champions.
I feel a sudden urge to do my bit to get us back to the top of the league once again. I am a proud Hartlepool lad, and I refuse to stand idly by while Burnly take the prize that is rightfully ours. And thus, I have no choice but to sleep with lots of teenage girls; they have to be of legal age obviously, I’m not a paedophile, just a pervert, albeit a pervert attempting to masquerade his perversion under the veneer of town-based patriotism. No, I am joking, obviously I’ll be doing this to put Hartlepool back to the top of the teenage pregnancy league where we truly belong.
To massively bastardise the words of Chumbawamba: we got knocked down, but we’ll be up again, and we’ll get up again by getting lots of teenage girls knocked up, coz we ain’t gonna be kept down … below Burnly. In fact, I think this should be Hartlepool’s anthem, designed to galvanise men and teenage girls of legal age to have sex for the honour and the glory of their home town. I will be seeing Neil from Chumbawamba on Wednesday, and so I will ask him whether the band would be interested in recording my song for this noble cause. I can’t see why they’d say no.
Sadly I have to leave Hartlepool in a couple of hours, and I doubt that’s really enough time to make any notable progress. I would need to find a teenage girl, check and then double check that she was of legal age, and then have sex with her. I doubt that two hours would yield any more than one teenage girl. And even that single bit of sex doesn’t necessarily mean that a pregnancy will occur, we’d still have to rely on the sperm making contact with the egg and fertilising it, which even for someone as virile as me, is still not a certainty. It would be a shame if I’d ended up having sex with a eighteen-year-old girl, only to find that it had been a complete waste of my time. Naturally, I’d be pretty pissed off about that, as I’ve got better things to be doing with my life than wasting it having sex with eighteen-year-old girls. I’ll be back in Hartlepool in May though, so I’ll make a concerted effort then. In the meantime, if there are any Hartlepool-based teenage girls listening or reading this who fancy joining me in doing their bit for their home town, get in touch with me. Again, I want to stress that I am only interested in girls of legal age, and I’d prefer it if you were closer to eighteen than sixteen, to avoid me possibly getting into trouble over any Gray areas. Although, if you’re sixteen and you have a Gray area, then you’ve probably got other things on your mind, and you might want to get some medical advice on that.
Just because I’m not able to do my bit for the cause until May, it doesn’t mean that the men and teenage girls of legal age can’t start without me. What are you waiting for? Come on! Lie back and think of Hartlepool!
Death was very much still the main theme of the day back at my family home in Hartlepool. Dad has been trying to tell me about his will, and to talk me through its various elements. I put up quite a bit of resistance, as I really didn’t fancy having this conversation. I told him that I am satisfied with just knowing what he’s written in his will once he’s died. After all, it would be a shame to ruin the moment by providing spoilers.
Dad has also just emailed me a copy of his diaries from thirty years ago that he and my mum wrote when I had cancer and became blind, as well as the diary he wrote just after mum died when I was twelve. He explained that he’d done this so that I had them to read when he’d gone. I have asked him if there’s something he’s not telling me, but apparently there isn’t. He is absolutely fine. He just seems to have acquired a new unusual hobby that involves him fixating on his own death and chatting about it to his increasingly concerned sons. I really think it’s his new hobby, as he doesn’t sound downbeat when he talks about it; he genuinely sounds jolly, as if he’s merely chatting about going to the shops or something.
I am of course relieved that my dad’s death doesn’t seem to be imminent, mainly because I’d be hugely sad, but also because it would be a shame if he never got to see all his hundreds of grand-children that he’s probably going to end up with if I do decide to go ahead with my campaign to get Hartlepool back to the top of the teenage pregnancy league table. Although, the stress and mayhem caused by all those grand-children will probably end up prematurely killing him. Actually, it’s likely that it will kill me first, as I’ll probably end up dying of exhaustion due to my none-stop impregnation marathons, meaning that I’ll probably end up dying before I get to see any of the children I’ve spawned; although, there’ll be so many that I wouldn’t be able to get personally attached to them anyway, and would probably simply just view each child as a point which brings us closer to teenage pregnancy capital reclamation and glory.
I think my dad’s matter-of-fact attitude about his own death is influenced by his fiancée Irene, who is very much a hardened, down-to-earth, no nonsense Yorkshire woman. She is certainly not abashed about discussing biological matters. The first time she cooked a meal for my dad (which was a delicious curry, beautifully and diligently prepared) she carried the plate over to the table, plonked it down in front of dad, and proudly declared, “there you are, now that’ll make you go in the morning.” Not “Bon Appétit” or anything pretentious like that. She’d spent hours in the kitchen making this meal, but before he’d even taken a mouthful of it, she was already commenting on its exit from him the next day.
So I think that Irene’s unashamed frankness about stark biological inevitabilities has rubbed off on dad, at least I hope that’s all it is, otherwise these Dollops are about to get rather depressing and introspective. I’d still throw in a few jokes for you though, don’t worry. In fact, I’m wondering if my dad put any jokes into his diary entries. Maybe he’s not sending me them because he’s thinking that he might die soon, but actually because he thinks they’re hilarious and might provide me with an award-winning standup show.
I’ve come back home to Hartlepool for a couple of days to see the family. Yesterday’s Dollop was released at 1135pm, with only 25 minutes to spare. The reason for this was because I spent most of the day playing with children. I am aware of the many comic avenues I could potentially take with that last sentence, but predictable punchlines don’t fall under the remit of David’s Daily Digital Dollop, which is all about breaking new ground and exploring new comic frontiers. So, when I say I was playing with children for most of the day, I am referring to children who form a part of my family, and there was nothing sinister going on, and I’m not even going to pretend that there was for comic effect. OK, I think we’ve dealt with that now. Don’t worry, I don’t intend to analyse every sentence in this much detail.
If you are listening to the audio version of this Dollop then you’ll have just heard my eleven-year-old niece Lucy, who appeared in the first few audio episodes of David’s Daily Digital Dollop. We did another batch of Dollop jingles yesterday, which I’ll be starting the Dollops with over the week. We agreed to reconvene and do some more jingles in 100 days time, although there is of course the possibility that in 100 days time she will feel that such exploits are the height of immaturity, far too childish and way beneath her, which will be sad and disconcerting for two reasons. firstly, it’s scary for me to consider how I have known Lucy since she was mere days old and seeing someone grow up at what seems to me to be a terrifyingly quick pace is a stark reminder of the rapid passage of time. When Lucy was born I was still at university. it will also be yet another reminder of my refusal to grow up and take life seriously. I don’t necessarily crave marriage and children, but there is a strong possibility that she will have kids and be married before me, which I think would force me into a situation where I’d have to start taking a look at my life. She is eleven now. She could have a child in just five or six years, in fact, she’s living in Hartlepool, teenage pregnancy capital of Britain, so let’s knock that down to three years.
I think going home always resurfaces these kinds of thoughts about the passage of time. It doesn’t help when my dad and his fiancée Irene seem to enjoy talking about death so much. One of the first things they told me upon me entering the house was that they were both sorting out their wills. Then the next conversation that followed this between me and my dad was a familiar one, because we have this same kind of conversation quite regularly.
It will start by dad saying something like, “I was in church last Sunday and I heard about Mrs Jenkins. Remember Mrs Jenkins?”
“no, I don’t think so.”
“You do. She went to our church.”
I haven’t been to church for ages, since my early teens.. My dad will persist though, despite me telling him that I’ve no idea who she is.
“She used to give you sweets after mass.”
“No, I don’t remember.”
“She used to nurse you on her knee if you started crying in church, and you used to immediately calm down.”
“no. I think it’s highly unlikely I’m going to remember that, because I was a baby, unless you’re about to attempt an obvious punchline about it only being five years ago when I was crying in church, in which case, be warned that I’m definitely not going to include it in thhis Dollop when I later mention this conversation, because as I said earlier, or at least I will have said earlier once I write the thing, this Dollop is about breaking new ground ad crossing new comic fronteers.”
“She was one of the helpers at Sunday school, who used to read the stories to you, because obviously you couldn’t see them to read.”
The conversation continues, and I gradually start to get a vague memory of Mrs Jenkins. My dad continues.
“She used to make the cakes for the church fate, and they were always your favourite, and you insisted on going to visit her stall first, remember?”
“Oh yes, you know, actually, I am starting to remember.”
“She knew you enjoyed music so she gave you a little toy keyboard to play with and said you could take it home. Your very first keyboard, remember?”
“Oh my god, of course, Mrs Jenkins. Lovely old Mrs Jenkins. Oh, she was great. I can’t believe I’d forgotten about her. Oh, how is she? I should visit her and thank her for everything. She was lovely. Mrs Jenkins, how could I forget. Oh, so, how is she?”
“She’s dead. She died last week. That’s why I’m mentioning her.”
Brilliant, I’ve just become reacquainted with a long lost friend who I am suddenly filled with so much love and appreciation for, only to immediately have her cruelly taken from me for ever.
And that’ll have to do for this Dollop, because it’s 1120, and I still need to record the audio version and upload it.
Yesterday, I saw the following news headline: “Corbyn Loses It With Female LBC Journalist.” LBC is a radio station in London, and according to this headline, Jeremy Corbyn lost it with one of their journalists. If you were merely taking a cursory look at the news, perhaps just skim reading through the headlines, then you might be forgiven for imagining some sort of bust-up, raised voices, possibly some swearing and some invective. After all, Corbyn apparently “loses it.”
So yesterday morning, a journalist waited outside Jeremy Corbyn’s front door in order to get some comments from him about the whole Cameron panama tax debacle. Corbyn has been clear from the start about not wanting to do interviews on his doorstep. Some people, including lots of wining journalists, claim that being doorstepped is part of the territory, and that if he doesn’t like it then he shouldn’t be a politician and leader of the opposition. But who decided this? Do you honestly think that when thousands of people signed up as labour members in order to vote Jeremy Corbyn in as labour leader, they were doing so because they were looking forward to watching what he had to say on his doorstep to a ragtag band of mediocre journalists, first thing in the morning, only half an hour after waking up? I don’t think anyone voted Corbyn in for that reason. I don’t recall doorsteps ever being mentioned by Corbyn or any of his supporters. So when these journalists declare that it’s part of the territory, they are simply throwing their toys out of the pram because Corbyn is not willing to play ball.
I think it’s fair to say that giving interviews is part of the territory for a politician, but I’m not at all convinced of the efficacy of conducting an interview with someone who’s still bleary-eyed and sleepy, having only just got out of bed half an hour ago. Although in Corbyn’s case he’s probably been up and about a bit longer than that, because obviously before he leaves the house he has to go through an arduous rigmarole of choosing his clothes for the day, being the fashion icon that he is (hahahah! Satire).
Surely it’s best to wait until he’s had a few minutes to digest the news, take stock of what’s going on, maybe have a cup of coffee and then consider his position and what he’d like to say before he says it? Then we’d actually get to hear a considered and well thought out approach to what’s going on, rather than a first-thing-in-the-morning, impulsive comment. Who’s that really benefiting? The answer is obvious: the journalists. That’s it.
It’s not as if Jeremy has refused to talk about David Cameron’s offshore affairs; he has released statements about it on labour’s website, mentioned it on Twitter, and spoken to journalists on his own volition in a more conducive environment for an interview, so it’s not as if we’re deprived of Corbyn’s thoughts about this.
“It took five weasel-worded statements in five days for the Prime Minister to admit that he has personally profited from an undeclared Caribbean tax haven investment deal. His determination to conceal that arrangement over many years raises serious questions over public trust in his office and his willingness to be straight with the public. Tolerance of tax avoidance and tax havens, and inaction on tax evasion, is denying funds to the public purse and leads directly to cuts in services and benefits that are hurting millions of people in Britain. The Prime Minister has lost the trust of the British people. He must now give a full account of all his private financial dealings and make a statement to Parliament next week. Only complete openness from the Prime Minister, and decisive action against tax avoidance and evasion, can now deal with the issues at the heart of this scandal.”
That’s what Jeremy Corbyn had to say mere hours after the LBC journalist doorstepped him, which I think is a pretty comprehensive and well-considered statement, much better than I’d imagine he’d have managed to come up with first thing in the morning, half an hour after waking up, upon leaving the house to be confronted by a woman baring a microphone and a camera.
If Jeremy Corbyn agreed to make a statement outside his house then it would be setting a precedent, giving journalists the notion that doorstepping him might yield positive results, and therefore more of them would camp outside his house, waiting for him to leave. So I think it’s perfectly logical and well within his rights to deny having interviews thrust upon him whenever a journalist fancies it.
Who decided that politicians are fair gain for this kind of harassment? Journalists are condemning Corbyn as if he’s breaking some kind of rule by his refusal to do unscheduled interviews with journalists outside his front door, but there isn’t actually any such rule. Maybe it’s time for the politicians to retaliate, and camp outside these wining journalists’ houses and harass them first thing in the morning, asking them to give them some sensationalist headlines on the spot, or to take some quotes out of context, without being given any prior warning. Any journalist who refuses to comply will be named and shamed at Prime Minister’s Questions.
So I clicked on the video and braced myself. I was expecting to hear Corbyn hurling abuse at the journalist, perhaps even physically assaulting her. After all, the headline said that “Corbyn loses it with female journalist.” I also read another headline on another website which said, “Jeremy Corbyn criticised over doorstep spat with LBC,” so I was expecting quite a bit of hostility to be coming from Corbyn, giving the terms “loses it” and “spat.” I also read various people’s comments. One of the commenters saw the clip and commented: “He’s a deeply unpleasant cunt with a serious anger management problem. Typical of thin men with goatee beards.” The commenter’s sensationalist, over-the-top, outlandish generalising betrays the fact that they are probably a wining journalist who believes that harassing people outside their front doors is their right and perfectly acceptable. It also seems a bit rich for this person to suggest that Corbyn has anger management issues, given that they call him a “cunt” and seems rather pissed off by all thin people with goatees.
So I pressed play on the video and prepared myself for the verbal, and maybe even physical onslaught.
As soon as Corbyn leaves his house the journalist is upon him. “Mr Corbyn, what is your reaction to …” she begins.
“Good morning everybody,” says Corbyn to the people outside his house. If you’ve not seen or heard this clip then you might be thinking, “good morning everybody? That doesn’t sound like he’s losing it. Presumably he must have said “good morning everybody” really aggressively, perhaps spitting the words out directly into the journalist’s face.” But no, I think it’s safe to say that his “good morning everybody” sounds perfectly pleasant, given the fact that he’s just opened his door and is being confronted by some annoying journalist.
The journalist says “good morning” back, and then continues to ask her question. Corbyn interupts the journalist, saying, “Thank you very much for coming here, but I don’t do interviews under any circumstances. Put it away please,” referring to the camera. The clip then ends.
I was stunned. This was apparently a clip of Corbyn losing it with a female journalist, but the whole thing seemed perfectly tame to me. There were 22 words spoken by Corbyn, which included, “good morning,” “Thank you very much” and “please,” words which I wouldn’t say are the hallmarks of someone losing it.
But the commenter who saw this clip said that “He’s a deeply unpleasant cunt with a serious anger management problem.” I must be missing something. Being blind, I couldn’t see the visual aspect of the video. Even though the audio sounds perfectly tame and polite, Corbyn must do something visually to justify the statement “loses it.” Maybe while he’s saying “good morning everybody, thank you very much for coming,” Corbyn is actually pushing the woman to the ground and starts punching her in the face. Yes, that must be it, hence the statement, “Corbyn loses it with female journalist.”
I played the video to my dad. I warned him in advance that there might be scenes containing violence, thinking that it would be best to prepare him for Corbyn’s savage physical assault on this poor “female journalist.” But when he watched it he merely informed me that Corbyn looks perfectly at ease and the only physical contact with the female journalist is to push her camera away from him as he says “put it away please.” That was it.
So let’s have a look at this headline once again and let’s see how accurate it really is. After all, it’s important that we scrutinise the work of journalists intensely, given that they passionately believe in getting to the truth and scrutinising politicians so intensely. It seems only fair to hold these journalists to the same standards that they expect of our politicians, does it not?
“Corbyn loses it with female LBC journalist.” The Corbyn bit is accurate; I’ll give them that, welll done. But I think it’s more than a little hyperbolic to suggest that he “looses it.” “Female LBC journalist” is also accurate; well done. But I’m interested in the inclusion of the fact that she’s female. The headline writer must have deemed the journalist’s gender a salient fact, after all, it’s a short headline, so only the key words are needed. It strikes me therefore that the word “female” has been used deliberately, but why? Is it to give people the impression that Corbyn has acted aggressively towards a vulnerable woman? Surely that is the only reason to use the word “female?” Surely if it was a male journalist, the word “male” would never be used in the headline. This headline actually says next to nothing about Corbyn but reveals so much about the journalists we’re dealing with here. Even though the video clip demonstrates nothing that is suggested by the sensationalist headline, they nevertheless choose to use those exact words in order to give people a certain impression and spin a story. They are lying, yet they are the very people who claim to be the ones who have a mission to uncover the truth and unearth lies and corruption. This is such a two-faced attitude, proving that these journalists are acting purely in self-interest rather than for any good.
Back tomorrow with the 101st Dollop. If there are any journalists thinking of trying to get tomorrow’s Dollop from me before I get around to writing it, by doorstepping me first thing in the morning and asking me to come up with that day’s Dollop there and then, don’t waste your time because I will politely decline your interview by thanking you for coming, and saying good morning to you whilst punching you repeatedly in the face, regardless of your gender.
Today’s Dollop is an audio Dollop, because I found it difficult to communicate this topic successfully in writing. I have therefore just decided to speak from the hart. The last 98 Dollops have been quite light and hopefully funny, but today I feel compelled to talk about something serious that’s really playing on my mind. It’s a difficult subject to talk about, but I hope that by doing so I will unburden myself and maybe even help others. I won’t write any more here. If you’re up for it, then feel free to listen to the below audio, otherwise come back tomorrow when the topic won’t be so emotional and serious.
