The shows are going well in Edinburgh. The critics are seeing the light and I have made some new comedy friends. in the last two nights I have been visited by Nicholas Parsons,Gyles Brandrith and the great Peter Bowles. I’ll be finished on the 25th then a small break and out on tour. I’ll be visiting some old haunts.Ipswich, llandudno, Doncaster, Cardiff and all the great old theatres I haven’t been to for a while. I will be also recording a dvd at a special show in Shrewsbury. Check out the tour dates and give em a ring .
In my comedian disguise I have visited the center of planet fringe. What I have seen is horrifying. The streets are jammed with mutants. These mutants are dressed in strange costumes and do ridiculous things. They dance and juggle for no apparent reason. I believe some alien life for has exploded a bomb containing some form of hallucinogenic drug. This has made the inhabitants of planet fringe believe they are entertainers of some kind. They are convinced of it and hand out proper-gander inviting you to share their suffering.
My cover is holding up and I convince my onlookers that I am funny. However there is a sub species here known as critics. These sad things have started to observe me. They are displeased with the audience reaction so now criticizes them as well as me.
I will try to hold on.
I look forward to returning to Earth…pray for me!
I have taken the guise of a comedian and bravely landed on a planet called “The fringe” Not wanting to compromise my disguise I moved into a so called hotel outside of Fringe city. The hotel is where people from the four corners of this world come to stay while waiting to go somewhere good. They eat strange things that look like eggs, but are solid with a skin on and cold. Unlike hotels on earth these places do not take complaints likely. The staff, for some reason speak many different languages so unless you are a trained linguist complaining is futile.
The rooms are made for small people who carry minimum baggage. A bottle of water is 2.50. With all this profit you would think that these places would be luxurious.
One good thing is the care they have for the environment. The toilet flushes with the power of a 90 year old man pissing. Any waste just surfs!
The management suggests that any waste that does not go can be removed by maintenance men, how thoughtful. I must apply for a job like that.
The capital city of fringe is a hub of entertainers of all sorts. Some are good some not so good. Alcohol is taken in great quantities, which makes the not so good ones better.
I will be here for 23 days. I will then return to earth full of shit and solid eggs.
God help me.
Captains log….Stardate July 2014.
Commander Goose and trooper Laming and I have arrived on a planet called “the West Country” It is a similar Planet to Norfolk but a lot warmer.
On this trip we took our own ship. It is smaller than a Norfolk ship but much faster. The cost of the fuel we used could have bought two Norfolk ships.
The sun shines a lot in Planet West Country and this makes the local species undress a lot. The females seem to get great pleasure in exposing their brown legs and cleavage. The men do the same.
Tattoos seem to be the thing; especially on the females. Trooper Laming made the observation that West country males must like reading after sex! Perhaps the tattooing is done during sex? Looking at the spelling on some this might be the case.
Planet West Country also suffers from an infestation of “holidaymakers”. The indigenous humans refer to them as Grockles. Grockle boats can be seen to take thousands of them to a place called Brixham, a delightful enclave inhabited by toothless men who catch fish and various molluscs. They leave their hunting nets on the quayside to dry out in the summer sun. With the wind in the right direction the smell can be detected in Weymouth. They of course have there own smell, especially on Friday nights when the females get a bit sweaty looking for a mate.
Like planet Norfolk the males are bald and angry. They take “Hello” as an insult especially when uttered after 2300 hrs. This is the time for drinking eating kebabs and attempting love making. This ritual is usually carried out after both male and females urinate in a doorway.
People from our planet should beware of the local drink called cider. The indigenous species love the stuff. Commander Goose had two glasses and nearly killed the population of a small quaint town called Newton Abbot.
The locals sleep without any form of air-conditioning at all. This is a planet that likes to sweat! Therefore the hotel we stayed at was like the noon day train to Calcutta. If you manage to open a window the noise of the seagulls will make sure you rise by 0400 hours. This of course makes the day longer and the risk of suicide from boredom should be noted.
We have compiled a list of do’s and don’ts for visitors from Earth
Do not ask if the man’s wife is his sister as well, especially in a place called Portland. This is a rumour put about by people who live next to Portland…it is called…Pisstaking!
Do not attempt to make love to a female unless you can do it all night buy her breakfast and get her a cab! Failure to do this will result in more piss-taking.
When visiting Cornwall take a language translator!
Do attempt to make friends but only before 1930 when the drinking ritual starts.
Do not expect to see the same behaviour on return visits. The planet has things called councillors who will ban, scrap, and close anything that the locals enjoy doing.
So get some sunscreen on and GO FOR IT…while it lasts
I’m afraid I have to agree with the Captain.
The last time we visited the Norfolk Broads our boat got stuck under a fisher price bridge in Potter Higham. The bridge was only 4 feet high. We approached with great conviction at 10 knots .The resulting crash caused three residents to wake up and fall in the river off their deck-chairs!. It took of the top of our boat, my hat, and my husband’s syrup! He tried to fish it out of the river but he was attacked by a pike…or was it a pikey? can’t remember
A man came and said something in a strange language. The fact that he had one onion stabber tooth protruding from his gob didn’t help. My husband offered him a light for it, that didn’t go down well either.
My first visit to Gt Yarmouth was when I was 10. We went to see the circus. The smell of Elephant shit stayed with me till my thirties!
I am now 104 so I now go to Eastborne. My husband Burt passed away some years ago but I still take him with me. No-one notices. But…
Bollox to Norfolk. I blame them for me seeing Burt’s bald head for the first time. The shock nearly made me follow through….I do it all the time now it’s part of everyday life.
I find your comments distasteful and un funny. I have been coming to Norfolk since I was a kid. The people are indeed lovely and helpful. They have a great sense of humor …spelt hoomer! They will share what ever they have with you, including sisters and elderly aunties!
We have a great boat. We got if from Wroxham, a beautiful town on the river Bure owned by a bloke called Roy.
The boat is very luxurious and has everything you could wish for. Ok I agree that one has to accept that you are on the broads and not San Tropez, but get past that and the Gosse shit and you’ll be laughing.
We are having a great time. Right now I still have a hangover from drinking with Sid at his pub in Thurne from two nights ago. Bill has been pissed since he left Dartford! We love Norfolk. We love Lathams of Potter Higham. What value!
John Cannel took us fishing on Hickling broads and we saw two swans killing each other. We then went to Yarmouth where we saw to birds trying to do the same!
I also take offence at the description of big women! How would you like to live on Mac Donald’s all your life?…it’s not funny. There are some big women about but they are as beautiful as the thin ones. I sometimes wonder how they wipe their bums’ but I digress
We have caught lots of fish and I have turned pink!
I’ll be sad to leave, but we have to, the shit tank on the boat is full!
Stardate July 2014.
We find ourselves on planet Norfolk, a strange planet that resembles Earth a generation ago. The people are friendly and welcoming. The planet is also inhabited by strange people called “Holiday makers” They are a different shape to the local indigenous species. The females are large and look as if they could kill you with one punch from their huge ham sized arms. They travel in small vessels that float on dark green water. The males are predominately bald and wear shorts showing off their battle scars or in this case strange inky drawings of tribes like Crystal Palace or Spurs.
The indigenous people must suffer frequently from scurvy due to the lack of fresh produce. One Norfolk female serving in a not so supermarket did not know what chillies were. One of our crew asked for Coriander and was stared at. In these parts coriander is a birth sign.
My crew are suffering from dampness due to the Norfolk vessel we have commandeered has no air-conditioning, or de-humidification or ventilation of any kind. One must attempt sleep with the window open only to awake with the agonising feeling that you have been eaten alive by bugs!
Food is a problem. The indigenous people don’t have many teeth so anything that need chewing is a no no. The other migratory inhabitants eat something called “pub-grub”. This consists of precooked repacked and micro waved shit that is full of calories and fat. This food causes the vistors to drink copious amounts of lager and gassy beer. This causes them to loose the power of reason and accountability. The locals quite encourage this and offer beer and a roast dinner for £1.50 and kids eat free.
We are leaving soon bound for earth. Our vessel will return to the owners who will give it a rinse and hire it to some other unsuspecting poor sod who will have to suffer the torture my crew and I have had to endure.
For future travellers’ from Earth I say this. Enjoy you trip, it will make you much more appreciative of your house.
Live long and prosper.
My Old friend George Savva passed away recently. Here’s a story about him
The day George fainted.
The nineteen seventies gave the world many things. Concorde, Thatcherism and the Electric Light Orchestra. It also gave us Cabaret night clubs. There were twenty big ones up and down the country. Jollies in Stoke. The Night Out and the Dolce Vita in Birmingham. The Lakeside country club, still going, and the most famous of all, Caesar’s Palace…in Dunstable.
Named after the real Ceasar’s Palace in Vegas, the club was the one of the first venues offering food drink and a top line cabaret star for the perfect night out.
Caesar’s was run by George Savva. He was the best: He could pack em in, don’t you worry ‘bout that! George knew every trick in the book. Seven nights a week, one thousand people a night. George truly was king of the clubs.
George had a Greek father from Cyprus and his real name was Savvas Gieogious! He didn’t sound a bit Greek, so when he changed his name no-one commented. He was known to all, simply as Sav and we all loved him
Sav told the best stories ever. They all contained disaster. Sav’s life always threatened danger. He lived continually on the edge. He always had a scheme and they nearly always came off…nearly!
After successfully running Caesars he became the manager of Blazers nightclub in Windsor. It was a great success…all down to George and his team
He used to sell cuddly toys in the foyer of the club. People when pissed would always buy something they didn’t want. Cuddly toys fitted the bill perfectly.
One night a visiting guest star, who will remain nameless, told George that he had a pirate copy of the soon to be releast film E T. After the club had closed they sat in the dressing room and watched it. All were moved to tears by this heart-wrenching story. George’s brain however was working overtime.
By the next evening George ‘s toy man had had made a little cuddly E T. It looked great. About a foot tall, brown and furry. In real life ET was a greeny colour but the pirate copy made him look brown, hence the colour of the toy.
A punter offered him a tenner for it. George’s eyes lit up like pound signs. Within a week George’s little toy maker was churning out one hundred ET’s a week. They were selling like hot cakes. George, never being satisfied decided that ET would sweep the Oscar’s and ordered another thousand ETs to anticipate the rush of sales.
There were ET’s stored everywhere in the club. If you opened a cupboard thousands of ET’s would tumble out. Business was so good the little toy maker had to take on staff to churn out these ET’s
George sat up all night to watch the Oscars and in his own words “Fucking Ghandi won it”
‘We’re broke’ they all cried.
George however had other ideas. He had made, a thousand nappies, put them on the ET’s and sold them as Ghandi’s.
“The worlds’ first dual purpose toy”. He was a star
This was his best story…
It was 1976 and George was running the hugely successful Caesar’s Palace in Dunstable. Stars were plentiful, Shirley Bassey, Tom Jones, Little & Large, Freddie Starr, Gene Pitney, The Four Tops…you name it, they all starred in Bedfordshire’s copy of the famous Las Vegas venue. To stop them being sued George changed the spelling of the word Ceasar’s by swapping the e and the a around…genius.
The club was always packed and miraculously all were fed. Serving a thousand people all at once was a problem. Firstly keeping the hundreds of meals warm and secondly getting them to finish eating by the time the star came on. It was driving George crazy.To add to the mess some customers had paid in advance, some customers had to pay on the night, most of the waiters couldn’t speak English and in George’s words, “It was a fucking nightmare love!”
A new invention changed everything; Boil In the Bag Food. Gone would be the frying pans, ovens, chip pans and deep fat fryers and in would come huge vats of boiling water into which the food, encased in a plastic watertight bag was placed then fished out later, snipped open with a pair of scissors and pored onto a plate
There were three types of dish, Beef Bourguignon, Chicken Supreme and Duck A La Orange all in identical plastic bags.
It worked perfectly; everyone could be fed at once as the huge vats of boiling water could hold two hundred dinners at a time. One evening George was sitting in the foyer having a fag when a woman approached him. Savva could sense grief through lead; he could spot a complainer a mile away. One evening a man came to him and asked, “What film is on tonight?” George said “it’s not a film, it’s cabaret. It’s Jim Davidson the comedian.” The man said, “Well, I must be watching a film”. George asked him why. He replied, “’cos I’m facing a fucking wall!”
The poor man couldn’t see a thing. George applied his normal get out of jail free card, a bottle of wine and two complimentary tickets to see Cannon and Ball!
Grief would always find George Savva. Whilst at Blazers he decided to have a fancy dress evening in aid of charity. All was well until a fight broke out. The police were called but George couldn’t speak to them because of hysterical laughter after he heard a policemen speaking to Anne Boleyn who had a nose bleed. George was in tears as he listened to the conversation (imagine this in a coppers voice).
“So madam, you were sitting with Frankenstein and Marilyn Monroe when you were punched by Elvis?”
“No she said, “Elvis was trying to help. It was the fucking Pope that did it.”
Bottles of wine all round and everybody was calm, apart from Quasimodo who threw up in the lift!
Yes, George could spot grief; and now here in Ceasar’s he was looking at it walking towards him. He eyed up the enemy, a woman in her 60’s, expensive two piece suit, too many jewels and “is that a tiara she is wearing?” George immediately stubbed out his fag, straightened himself up and put on his pious butter wouldn’t melt in his mount’ look, and faced this imminent shit storm that was coming his way.
“Can I help you madam?”
“Are you the manger?”
“I am. Is there a problem?”
“Yes” she growled. She handed him a card. George couldn’t read it without his glasses, he didn’t’ wear them very often those days as it made his right eye look even worse than it actually was. She said her name out loud. As she said it, her nose rose two inches at least…
“My name is Lady Forstesque-Smythe. I am an ornithologist. I am also a chef. My expertise is the study of ducks. I photograph them, I draw them, I write about them. I have been all around the world watching ducks, from the marshes of Breydon Water in Norfolk, to the Nile delta in Africa. I have sometimes spent months waiting for one particular duck to arrive, to photograph it, to write about it. I am the world’s leading authority in ducks. I have duck wallpaper in my house. I have ornamental Chinese ducks, Turkish Porcelain ducks, ducks formed from clay of stone-age Britain. There is nothing about ducks I do not know”.
As she said this, George, aware of what is coming had started to get smaller in an attempt to disappear. By the time she had finished this salvo he was four feet two and bent double like Uriah Heap.
Crouching down to look him in the eye, Lady
“…so as you can imagine, I am rather fond of ducks. I am also fond of eating them. I have eaten duck all over the word. I have eaten Aylesbury duck in Aylesbury; I have eaten Peking duck in Peeking. I have even eaten duck at the seven seas restaurant in Tibet. I have probably tasted every version of duck there is” she raised her voice to a crescendo…
“and tonight I have eaten your duck!”
After a milli- second he sprung back up like a military target and started to search for the words to say…
Normally when you’re in the shit, you keep quiet…not George. His mouth dropped open and the word “erggghhh” came out several times.
This would take him more than a bottle of wine and two comps for the Nolan Sisters.
“Yes”, she said, “I have eaten your duck and can I just say…”
George shut his good eye and prepared for the worst…
“…it is the finest duck I have ever eaten in my life.”
Down he went again and sprung back like a plastic thing in a budgie’s cage
George was speechless and started to straighten up, “thank you madam and what a compliment coming from such an expert, a true genius of the duck world.”
He mopped the sweat away from his brow and smiled as the imminent disaster was once more averted.
Her ladyship continued, “I was so impressed that I made my way up here to speak to you”
“Thank you” said George almost bowing
“I must have the recipe.”
“ I beg your pardon?”
“One moment madam, I will go and speak to Chef.”
The chef was tucked away at the back of the club. He was of foreign origin and worked for readies; he was an affable bloke but was the filthiest dirtiest looking unshaven chef you could ever wish to set eyes on. Also, and for good measure he was having an affair with the one legged Irish bar manager.
George was a live and let live type of chap and took no notice of these things, but now however, he had to face the chef and beg for the recipe. He rushed into the kitchen in desperation, “Chef, Chef!” he cried.
“What is it a boss?” came the reply.
“The duck, the duck, I must have the recipe for the duck”
The chef removed his woodbine, flicked the ash onto the floor and said
“Ittsa a simple innit…I getta de big ladle, scoope out of de pan, sometime I getta Beef, someitimes Duck. I cut open de bag wid de scissors and pour on de plate and serve wivva da rice..init”
“Bugger” thought George, “what am I going say?”. His brain went into overdrive.
“Look chef, just put on your clean hat, stick you head out the serving hatch and wave at that women over there.”
When this was done George returned with the news, “Lady Fortesque-Smythe” he said, assuming a posture of servitude.
“I’m afraid it is impossible for me to give you the recipe for our duck; the chef comes form a long line of Sicilian chefs and the recipe, he tells me, has been passed down through the generations, from grandfather to father from father to son and if he was to pass to you that recipe his life would be worth nothing and the shame would be upon him and his family forever”
He held his breath
Lady Fortesque-Smythe lifted her hand and stopped Sav in his tracks. “Say no more” she cried, “I fully understand”. She produced a pound note from her purse.
“Please give this to the chef, tell him I fully understand and tell him that tonight in your night club I have sampled the ultimate Duck!
George fainted again!
The Summer is coming and I am looking forward to the traditional Summer season Gigs. If you click on the tour dates bit of the web site you will see I am doing the usual favorites. These gigs are great and a chance for me to mingle with the seaside audience and go with the flow.I never know quite what I will be doing on stage .It is a laugh! I love it.Come along and join the fun. Then it’s off to the Edinburgh festival and risk life and limb with the lefties. Wish me luck. Don’t forget my book No Further Action is released on the 7th of August.Get your orders in now at Amazon or your local book shop. Hope you’re all following me on twitter see ya
As the sun is shining, what better way to celebrate than a Summer Sale in the Jim Davidson online shop!!
The popular “Jim Davidson Cookbook” is currently on sale for just £11 (plus P&P) and features all Jim’s favourite recipes in his own unique and fun way. Including good ol’ British meals as well as Chinese, Thai, Indian and Fish dishes.
In addition to it already being a bargain, Jim will also be personally signing all copies of the book!
What are you waiting for!? Purchase your copy today from the Online Shop