And I’m Back There In Two Weeks (Unless There’s Really a God)

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

It wasn’t that the gig was a total disaster, though on Saturday it was headed in that direction. This has been a problem with many of the current Jongleurs comedy clubs situated in venues that are primarily discos. Some of them work, some don’t, and in nearly all of those that don’t, there’s still a little ray of hope that it can. In nearly all of them, the staff are eager and ask for our suggestions, and in at least two that I’ve worked multiple times, I’ve enjoyed the gigs more each time I’ve worked them. That said, the venue in Swansea, Western Wales, which has only been open for about a month, has a LOT of work to be done, but not that much with the room itself. No, our main problem was the Bates Motel B & B where they opted to lodge us. Maybe we’ve all been a little spoiled over the years here, being usually put up at Holiday Inns, Premier Travel Inns, or Hotel Ibises, not exactly five-star, but at least a comfortable sleep in pleasant surroundings. The four of us all came a long way: Dougie Dunlop and I came from London, about 200 miles and a 3 1/2 hour train ride; emcee Nik Coppin came from Milton Keynes, about a 4-hour train ride; and Mike Millican DROVE from Newcastle, a SEVEN-hour odyssey. We’d have been happy with one of the above hotels, but the ominous sign that greeted us at this seaside hotel was “Rooms from £20 with breakfast.” 20 pounds?? Plus it was not really convenient to the venue (about 20 minute walk), and an even further walk from the train station.

And what greeted us inside? What you’d expect for £20, or about 30 US dollars. A rundown structure with the mildewed smell you’d expect from any seaside dwelling where only the bare minimum is done to keep the health officials off their ass. The downstairs bathroom had the even stronger odor of bleach, enough that if the toilet hadn’t been flushed in two weeks, you wouldn’t know. (I didn’t dare to check!) Then it was up the narrow stairway, thankfully only one flight for me while the other guys were stuck on the top floor, to my “home” for the next 40 hours or so. There were two tiny single beds, a miniscule mounted-to-the-wall TV that only got four channels, no desk or table (only a nightstand), and your choice of two lights: The overhead that left a sizable carbon footprint, or the bedside lamp with about a 2-watt bulb. In the bathroom was a toilet that after you flushed sounded like Niagara Falls was running through as the tank filled up, plus a shower with plenty of color on the ceiling (mostly brown). Happily the floor of the shower was relatively devoid of any foreign looking substances.
The breakfast was from 7:30 to 9:00. That’s doable for me since I’ve been an early riser for much of the last 20 years, but most in my profession just can’t get to sleep before 1 AM, so not surprisingly I was the only one of our bunch to make it down in time. Breakfast was served by a lady who was probably in her 50’s but looked 70, and had a voice that could only be obtained by smoking about 60 Marlboros a day since her teens. If you didn’t want a cooked breakfast, there really wasn’t much to choose from, just corn flakes, orange juice, tea, and toast. I’m really only able to eat a cooked breakfast here when I cook it myself. Call it an American quirk, but there’s too much in the English breakfast that makes no sense to me, and I didn’t feel like gambling with this place. Fried bread and baked beans? Uhh, no. We Americans may go overboard in our choice of cholesterol-raising foods and the ridiculous quantities of them, but for the most part, it all just tastes better!

Thankfully, the weather was nice enough that I could go for long walks along the beach and into town and in the early evening watch “Strictly Come Dancing,” a show which I never had that much interest in, but since “X Factor” has been exceedingly boring this year, I’m going to “Strictly” almost in protest. Then it was time to be the Christian-among-the-lions at Jongleurs. At least I wasn’t alone in my struggle, as all of us had to exercise crowd control in the midst of trying to entertain. One table in particular was told “Shut the fuck up” more than once by the comics, and they kinda did, but not fully. They were in full inebriation by the time I went up to close the show. I lasted with prepared material for MAYBE five minutes. After that it was “Well, what can we do to kill the remaining 20?” Not only was I having to maintain some semblance of focus, but in working so hard, I pretty much lost my voice about ten minutes in. I was relieved when an older person requested The Shadows (for American readers, the top-selling UK instrumental group of all time, UK’s equivalent of The Ventures), meaning I could just play guitar for a minute or so and catch my breath. When I finally left the stage, I felt the same exhaustion I might have felt from running a couple miles on a hot, smoggy day. (I did that daily for a couple of years when I lived in LA. How 90’s!!)
It was just a bad time in what has previously always been a delightful town to play, so maybe we’ll just chalk this up to experience and move on. When I got my first of two horrible reviews from Chortle, the UK comedy website, the first note of protest on my behalf came from Swansea, so I have a soft spot for the town. But I’m slated to return to Jongleurs Swansea the weekend after next, and also on New Years Eve. Maybe the hotel will be changed, as I’m sure I won’t be the only one to complain, and maybe the venue will have its shit together on how to properly discipline and/or screen the audience. Or maybe I’ll be moved to a different venue. As Howard Jones sang in 1985, “Things can only get better”

November 13th, 2011



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