I'm at the crossroads
Getting drowned in white lines
A bad moon is rising
But now I'm doing time
But I'll just keep walking
And this devil I will find
Got no home to go to
I can't sleep at night
- Broken and falling
- Falling, I'm broken
- Got whisky on my mind
- Got whisky on my mind
On my mind
- Broken and falling
- Broken and falling
I'm broken
- Got whisky on my mind
- Got whisky on my mind
On my mind
- My train is calling
- My train is calling
- No woman I can find.
- No woman I can find.
Ladies and gentlemen, please
welcome Kevin Bridges.
- Hello.
- Audience: Hello.
How are we today in Glasgow?
Friday night, it's fucking payday.
Here we go.
It's good to be here
in the Scottish Exhibition and
Conference Centre, here we are.
The SECC, or as it's known
locally, "that fucking SECC".
"Three quid for a hotdog
in that fucking SECC."
"See that queue at the
bar in that fucking SECC."
Over in these big venues, you know, when
people come out and they see their mates,
and they're on the phone
going, "Where are you?"
"We're in D, we're in
D. Where are you at?"
"I'm in K."
"D, E, F, G, H, l, J... K."
"Stand up. What are you wearing?"
"Er, yellow T-shirt."
"Oh, aye, I can see you. I
can see you. Wanker! Wanker!"
It's nice to be
here. I've seen...
I've seen Lady Gaga perform.
Yeah, I've seen
Lady Gaga in here.
It's easy... It's easy to slag Lady
Gaga, but the guy puts on a good show.
I've seen him up here
singing about his poker face.
No, he's a talented bloke, he is.
So, did you see the entrance, did
you see the intro, Tony Soprano, eh?
I don't even drive, man.
See how smooth that was?
I don't even drive.
It'd kind of ruin
Tony Soprano's image
if he'd just whipped out a
provisional driving license.
You believe this
fuckin' cocksucker?
You believe this fucking guy?
So, it is good to be back. This
is the last night of the tour.
Good to be back in Glasgow.
Good to come back in Glasgow
because you can speak.
You know, when you travel with a
Scottish accent, it's kind of hard.
Nobody understands
anything you're saying, no.
I've done a few TV shows. I'm a
pretty fucking big deal, you know?
I'm serious news. No,
I've done a few TV shows.
When you've got a Scottish
accent on the telly,
you need to try to enunciate
and use proper English.
But it's hard to find the right balance,
'cause no matter how hard you try
to enunciate and
use proper English,
there's still somebody
from Leamington Spa.
"When we saw you
on the television
"I didn't quite understand
everything you were saying."
"I didn't quite catch it. Some
of it was a bit over my head.
"Your accent is really quite strong.
You've got a really thick Scotch accent.
"Didn't quite catch
everything you said."
Whilst there's somebody in Scotland
saying, "We've seen you on the telly
"talking like a fucking bender."
"Care to explain yourself?"
And when you travel down south
and you tell people you're from
Glasgow, they get quite excited.
They go, "Glasgow, yeah, it's
really quite rough, isn't it?
"Really violent, yeah."
You kind of get proud, and
you go, "Oh, aye. Oh, aye."
"You know, a lot of tough guys."
"Oh, aye, a lot of
tough men, yeah."
Then they visit the place and
they're a bit disappointed.
We're trying to get away
from the stereotypes.
We've got a new
promotional tourist campaign
called "Glasgow:
Scotland With Style".
Anybody seen the posters?
It's one of these kind of
homogenised posters of people,
supposed to be the
new face of Glasgow.
People with names like Nathan.
You know, every major city advertises
the happy people like Nathan,
and it's this guy who's in the
poster, "Nathan, sales assistant".
"Proud Glaswegian."
I don't think a sales assistant called Nathan
is a fair representation of any major city.
I think major cities should play up
to those stereotypes on the billboards
advertising your city, show them
real people, like wee Mental Davey.
Apprentice joiner.
Father of six.
Davey's there in the billboard with the
six kids all tucked into the one tracksuit.
A Lacoste tracksuit
- only the best for these kids,
they're all dressed up
for their granny's 30th.
You've got six kids, you've got
Keanu, you've got Sigourney...
Destiny. That's a
new one, Destiny.
Imagine naming your daughter after
the nightclub she was conceived in.
"This is Destiny, and this
is my son, The Garage."
That was a nice shock statistic
about teenage pregnancy.
Apparently one in three 15-year-olds in
the UK admit to being sexually active.
That was a shock
tabloid headline.
I don't know where they get
this kind of evidence, no.
I don't know who they ask
to get these statistics.
You know, if some youth
worker approached you
when you were 15 years old,
in front of all your pals,
and asked you if you
were sexually active.
You'd say, "Fucking right, mate."
"Who, Shagger?"
Put me in for five, pal.
If you ever get any sex
education at school...
Remember, word would
spread, when you were 15,
if you went to the health
centre they give you out condoms.
That was good, you went to the
health centre and got your condoms.
None of us were well sexed,
but you got the condoms.
Fill them up with water.
They'd become water balloons.
Using a condom in a water fight,
the thinking man's water fight.
But you'd always have one of your
friends who would take it a bit too far
and introduce a Durex Extra Safe.
A Durex Extra Safe in a water fight,
you'll fucking put somebody in a coma.
A Durex Ribbed Extra Safe!
You'll need facial
reconstruction.
I'm getting to that
age. I'm 23 years old.
I'm 23. Not a lot of
people believe that I'm 23.
In the west of Scotland, this
is what a young guy looks like
in this day and age. I'm 23.
I look like a darts prodigy,
don't I? Look at that.
I'm 23, so I'm
getting to that stage.
Some of my friends, some of
my cousins are having children.
You'll notice this:
In a family gathering
there's a newborn baby getting passed
around somebody's living room like a joint.
And everybody's
saying their piece.
You know, some people who've just got this
natural rapport when they speak to babies.
They can just go, "Oh,
look at you. Aw. Aw."
And the baby starts mumbling.
"Are you telling me a wee story?"
It's getting closer and closer
to me and I'm thinking, "Shit."
"I need to pretend
that I give a fuck."
And it gets to me and
I just kind of freeze.
I'm going, "How are
you doing, mate?"
And the baby feels the
tension, starts to cry.
Everybody looks at me as
if I'm in the wrong here.
"Toughen up, you wee prick."
Dogs, as well. I feel uneasy
in the presence of dogs.
Not "dogs" in the
traditional sense.
I mean "dugs", right. You
know, you got a difference.
In Scotland they
call a dog a dug.
We take that "o" and
make it "u". A dog, a dug.
It's a slang term, but it's
also a social implication,
in that you get "dogs"
and you get "dugs".
D'you know what I mean by that?
You get, "Oh, look at that wee dog",
"Watch that fuckin' dug."
You know, one of them big council-house
terriers with a name like Sasha.
Somebody brings it on a bus and
it jumps on top of you on the bus
and you shite yourself.
And the owner's going, "Don't
worry, she's only playing with you.
"Don't worry, she's
just a big softy."
And the dog's going,
"You know that's a lie.
"This isn't over."
I like animals. Just
feel uneasy amongst dogs.
I was watching a documentary about
animal testing, about toiletries
and cosmetic products
that get tested on animals.
And it was showing you
these horror stories
about animals that get
badly burned and disfigured.
Lt was pretty
distressing shit, right.
But I'm quite a positive guy.
I'm watching this, thinking, "What about
the happy stories about cosmetic tests?
"What about the tests
that were successful?"
"What about the toiletries and beauty
products that made it to the market?"
I want to turn on the TV
and see the two chimpanzees
in a laboratory cage somewhere saying,
"You're smelling good, chico. "
"Is that Lynx Africa?"
Bomp-chica-wha-wha!
I'm 23, still live at home.
Don't know if any of the
young guys at the front,
- any of you still
live at home? Yeah!
Young guys at the front, a
guy up in block D said yes.
Twenty-three, you live at home, you don't
need to pay rent and stuff like that,
but you pay mental
rent, don't you?
I've always had a good
relationship with my parents.
Especially my dad.
You know, when you're
seven, eight, nine years old,
as a young guy, traditionally,
your dad is your hero, isn't he?
Your role model.
He knows everything.
You want to follow in the guy's
footsteps. You want to emulate the guy.
Then you get to about 12 years old,
you realise your dad's an arsehole.
It's a perfectly natural stage in adolescence,
discovering that your dad's a bit of a knob.
It's just what happens.
Normally happens
on Christmas Day.
And involves building something.
I'd be sitting there working patiently
away, using the instruction manual.
My dad would come in. See,
my dad is of the old school
where the use of an instruction manual is
viewed as an admission of homosexuality.
"That can get to fuck."
"Where's the claw hammer?"
And once you've realised
your dad's an arsehole,
you can kind of use
it to your advantage.
I realised my dad was
an arsehole in 1998.
Right. In 1998 you
never had Sky Plus.
Or Sky HD. It was just Sky.
And you had, I'd
say three options.
You could get it via a
satellite dish, via a cable,
or you knew a guy that
could get you a box.
You know, one of them guys that can
get you a hold of anything for 40 quid?
He can get you a
Nissan Micra, 40 quid.
He can get you a set
of golf clubs, 40 quid.
An iPod nano, 40 quid.
Fifty quid in cash, 40 quid.
Everybody's met a dodgy
bastard, right? 40 quid.
The satellite dish, that was
like in a working-class option.
Satellite dish. You
want a satellite dish.
You want your neighbours
to know you've got Sky TV.
If you're paying L25 a month,
you want your neighbours knowing
that you're better than them.
Now, we had Sky through
a satellite dish, 1998.
You could be watching Sky TV...
I don't know if anybody
remembers old-school Sky.
You could be watching Sky TV
in the living-room television,
but you could also go
upstairs to the bedroom TVs
and watch Sky, but only what
the person in the living room...
only what they were watching.
I don't know the intrinsic technical
explanation as to why that happened,
but it just did.
Saturday nights, me and my dad
watching Match of the Day.
And it gets to the
kind of shite games.
And I say, "Right, I think
I'm going to go to bed, Dad.
"Good night."
And he continues the charade,
and he says, "Oh, you're going to
bed, Son? Oh, that's fine. Good night."
And as that mutual father-and-son,
we both know what the plan is here.
Casually exit the living
room, nice and slow.
Don't even stop off in the
kitchen for a look in the fridge.
Eyes on the prize,
right up the stairs.
Bedroom TV switched on,
go to channel number 6.
That's when you see what
he's watching, number 6.
TVs are synchronised,
but he's in control.
A few minutes go by and he's still
watching Match of the Day.
I'm thinking, "That's fine, he must
be giving it a couple of minutes.
"You don't want to
make it too obvious.
"Nice and smooth. He's done
this before. Nice and smooth."
Another few minutes go by, I'm thinking,
"Come on, stick to the plan, Andy.
"You're better
than this, come on."
Looking at the bottom right of the TV,
waiting for the numbers to get typed in.
The numbers that could make or
break the evening's entertainment.
Waiting for the numbers. "Go on, play
your numbers, give me your numbers."
Nine. That's good.
That's good.
He's played a nine. Could not have
hoped for a better start than a nine.
Zero-five, the 10-minute
freeview. Jackpot!
"You're a dirty bastard,
Dad, but I love you."
Yeah, that was back in the
day, back in the old days
when the late-night TV was good.
Remember Channel 5
would stick a porno on.
You'd have programmes like
Eurotrash on Channel 4.
And that's what kept young
people off the streets.
That should put an end to
teenage antisocial behaviour...
put soft-core porn back on
terrestrial TV at the weekend.
Thank you, sir.
Remember you'd be there
watching Channel 5,
The Red Shoe Diaries,
or Indecent Proposals,
it gets to the good bit.
You're ripping the
head off it, right?
You get to the point of no
return and they go to adverts.
Quick, change that
to Eurotrash.
A midget poking a zebra's
arse with a shopping trolley.
Oh, it's by no means ideal,
but it's better than nothing.
Remember finding a
porn mag in a hedge?
That's a dying game, innit?
Finding a porno in a bush.
Remember you'd be playing football,
the ball'd get kicked in the bushes.
Somebody would go in to retrieve the
ball, they would come out with no ball.
Proudly parading in a wank book.
Match abandoned.
Finding a porno in a hedge.
It's those kind of coming-of-age
moments that shape you as a person.
I don't know if I can reminisce
about much at 23 years old,
but I like to reminisce about
the '90s, the good old days.
Back when it was just a
PlayStation 2 and stuff like that.
Remember your first taste of independence,
when word had spread in your school
that somebody's mom and dad
were going away for the weekend?
And that the guy or the
girl were having a party.
They never knew they
were having a party.
Perhaps "having" is the wrong choice
of word. They were "getting" a party.
And I don't mean the kind
of high-school parties
that you see in American movies.
"Hey, hey, do you
guys know Chad Hogan?"
"Yeah, of course, man.
Everybody knows Chad Hogan, man."
"Chad Hogan's mom and dad are going
away to Long Island for the weekend, man.
"There's a party at Chad
Hogan's mom and dad's?" "Yeah."
"Whoo! Spring break! Yeah!"
"Chad Hogan's parties
are awesome, man. Whoo!"
Then it shows you
Chad Hogan's party.
Chad Hogan's booked a
band for his living room.
"Great party, Chad. Whoo! Yeah!
"Let's go get some
dip and chip. Whoo!"
Everybody's nodding to the music
with these plastic cups of beer.
But nobody knows who brought them.
They just go, "Whoo! Yeah! Whoo!"
That's not the kind of parties we
had. We never had that kind of parties.
We never had spring break,
we had the Easter holidays.
When I was growing up, it was
called "an empty". An empty.
It derives from, 'We've
got an empty house."
"We've got an empty."
The house is empty.
It's an empty.
I mean, you never
had, "Spring break!"
or Chad Hogan or
bands at an empty.
An empty was a far
more tense affair.
Somebody's furious cousin
would disrupt the ambience
by announcing that
he'd popped his 12 cans.
"Drank two, gave one away,
"but there's only seven left."
"Turn that down! We've got a can
thief. Fucking turn that down!"
Somebody else in the corner
just trying on people's jackets.
"Think this one suits me?"
Not even asking, "Does it
fit me?" "Does it suit me?"
I mean, the guy's a petty criminal,
you need to look your best, don't you?
The same guy that's leaving the house at
the end of the night holding a microwave.
"I think you'll find I
brought this with me."
"And I do not care
for the accusation.
"I mean, why would
I steal a microwave?"
A 35-year-old guy that
nobody knew in the corner.
Smoking dope and blowing
into your Labrador's face.
An intelligent dog as well,
and it's sitting there frazzled.
An empty.
Good times in an empty.
I seen a headline
about a mental party.
It was obviously a tragic
event, but it was pretty funny.
A headline that said, "Woman drugged,
beaten, tied up, and left for dead
"at neighbour's party."
Surely that can no longer
be referred to as a party.
I have been in attendance
at some pretty wild gaffs,
but when a woman has been
drugged, beaten, tied up...
"I better get a taxi, huh?"
That's the cue to stop
dishing out nibbles.
Well, a lot of violent crime
- that's been in the news quite a lot.
A lot of violent crime,
knife crime, gun crime, stuff.
I don't know what the solution is.
There's calls for the tougher sentences.
I think we need more
consistent sentences.
For example, the crime attempted murder, that
carries a six or seven-year jail sentence,
whereas murder carries a life sentence.
Now, why should that be different?
You still tried it.
Attempted. You tried
to kill somebody.
You weren't very good at it.
That was by no means your forte.
And I don't think you
should get a lesser sentence.
Ln my opinion, you should get double
the sentence for making an arse of it.
And they get police officers
to travel round schools
to give talks to kids
about knife crime.
At the end of the talks,
they give the kids a sticker
that says "Dennis the
Menace" or something.
Something like, "Dennis the
Menace says no to knives."
Now, I don't mean
to be cynical here,
but if you wore a "Dennis the Menace
says no to knives" sticker at school,
there's a good chance
you'd get stabbed.
I think a start would be to close
the shops that sell violent weapons.
You know you get these
sports shops that sell
crossbows to alcoholics,
you know these places?
And sport shops that sell
3,000 baseball bats every year
but have never sold a baseball.
"They're the Easterhouse Red Sox. They've
not had a game in a while, but we're still...
"We're still selling
them equipment.
"They must have a pretty hectic
pre-season schedule booked."
I was in one of these places,
doing a bit of research,
and the only security measure,
if you wanted to buy something that
could be construed as a violent weapon,
is you need to fill in a form
leaving your name and address
so if anything happens, you can
be easily traced for questioning.
Now, that's the theory.
What self-respecting nutcase,
buying a weapon with a view
to committing a heinous felony,
would leave their
real name and address?
I picture some police investigation
team going through the book.
They say, "Excuse me. Shop owner.
"Says here you
sold a samurai sword
"to Bert and Ernie
"from 24, Sesame Street."
And some new-guy cop,
they've maybe sent him on a
wild-goose chase somewhere,
Sesame Street not
showing up on the SatNav.
Sliding down the
window for directions,
going, "Excuse me.
Excuse me, mate.
"Sorry. Excuse me, excuse
me. Can you tell me...
"how to get...
"How to get to Sesame... That's
a fuckin' wind-up, innit?"
I used to watch a programme
called Get Your Own Back.
Big show in the '90s.
I'll explain the premise of the show
to the more mature audience members.
It was hosted by a guy
called Dave Benson Phillips.
Big Dave, as you can see,
a fanny magnet, right?
Dave Benson Phillips.
In the show they'd
get these kids on
who wanted to get their own back
on a family member who had
done something to annoy them.
And it was always like, you
know, they'd tell the story
about what their
family member had done.
Then they'd bring on the family
member and everybody would boo.
It was normally a guy, and
they'd boo. They'd go "Boo!"
"How could you do that? Boo!"
Then they would gunge the guy.
Cover him in gunge and go,
"Boo! Serves you right."
"That's what you
get. Gunged. Boo!"
And that was that. Revenge.
Revenge had been hard. Revenge.
It was always really,
really shite stories.
Like, "I'm here to get
my own back on my daddy.
"'Cause we were in
the car and he farted.
"And it was
absolutely disgusting.
"And he wouldn't
put down the window."
I used to watch this every day.
Just one day somehow hoping for
something a bit more hard-hitting.
"I'm here to get my own
back on my Uncle Ronnie
"'cause he's a paedo."
And everybody's going, "Boo!"
"Gunge that paedo."
"Gunge that beast."
When's the last time you turned
on the TV and seen a paedo-gunging?
Everybody had a dodgy
uncle or a dodgy teacher.
We'd a maths teacher, a bit dodgy,
bit of a pervert maths teacher.
You know, you'd
forget your calculator,
he'd make you do the class
in your vest and pants.
Your favourite subject at school?
- PE.
- PE? Same here, man.
I was always the fat guy
that brought in a note.
"Please excuse Kevin from volleyball.
He's fucked off to the chip van."
That's what PE stood for,
for me. "Please Excuse."
My favourite subject was
woodwork. And as we know...
Woodwork. Everybody's woodwork
teacher was a functioning alcoholic.
We'd a woodwork teacher.
His name was Mr Brundle.
So we'd come in in the mornings and
we'd shout, "Let's get ready to Brundle."
And everybody else in the class was
ready to Brundle except this guy.
He was fucked.
His Brundleing days were over.
He'd just be sitting at his desk,
about 25 minutes into the
woodwork class, just sitting there,
just going...
And he'd face the class and just say, "Right,
kids, I've had a tough, tough weekend."
"I've had a tough
time this weekend.
"I was supposed to go to IKEA,
"but I spent a week's
wages in Oddbins.
"So one of yous wee pricks
make me a spice rack."
When you were 12, that
was a lot of stress.
Now, PE. We're in the middle
of an obesity epidemic.
Do you know about PE? Not a
lot of young people exercising.
Do you exercise?
- What's your exercise
of choice? Football.
Football. Do you play for a team?
- Just five-a-side?
Seven-a-side.
Just the kind of guy, just go...
I play five-a-sides. I'm the kind
of guy, I just go for the shower.
You know, they play five-a-side on Sunday,
they just stay in goal for the whole game,
then as soon as the game finishes, they start
whipping people in the arse with a towel.
Now, we're in the middle
of an obesity epidemic.
I don't know if we've got
any fat people in the room.
Have we got any fat people in?
I'm a little bit rotund myself.
I don't mean I'm fat.
I give myself "chubby".
I'm not documentary fat.
Never gonna turn on Channel 4 on a
Tuesday night and see a guy like me,
"Tonight, we meet
the 14-stone man."
"That looks disgusting."
"Anybody watch that 14-stone
man last night? Shocking.
"Showed you this guy, he couldn't
even do 20 minutes on the treadmill.
"It showed you the
guy having his dinner.
"He ate a gammon
steak and oven chips,
"and then he ate
five Jaffa Cakes,
and a Penguin."
"14 stone!
"It's on again next
week. The guy's shocking."
People always get flawed
perceptions of their size.
And it works in a
few different ways.
I'll use women as
an example here.
You know you get girls who are skinny,
but they think they're a bit chubby?
Girls who are chubby
think they're fat,
fat girls think they're obese,
and then obese girls
think they're supermodels.
They're the happy people.
They're the ones hanging out
of limousines on a Friday night
going...
The driver's going, "Can you lean in,
please? You're gonna fucking... That's right."
They're the first ones on the
karaoke. They're the happy people.
I tried exercising.
I took up swimming.
I tried to go swimming.
I went to my local...
Thank you. I went
to my local pool.
Don't know if anybody here's ever
been to the local public pool.
You don't need to be a member
in your local public pool.
Anybody can go. And they mean
that, they mean anybody can go.
Anything. Anybody. Anything
can go. Anybody can go.
When I took up swimming, I tried
to go to my local public pool.
I work at night time,
so I need to attend my
local public pool daytime.
Now, in a public swimming pool,
on, for example, a Wednesday afternoon,
it attracts a certain clientele.
And I noticed this one day.
I was in the public
pool Wednesday afternoon,
I had done my length.
Then I stopped
'cause I was fucked.
But I made it look cool.
You know, when you put
your elbows up on the tiles.
And I was shocked. I looked
around in my public pool,
on this Wednesday afternoon,
and I noticed in a public swimming
pool on a Wednesday afternoon,
there are three kinds of people.
I'm going to be honest here.
Three kinds, a bit of honesty
here, three kinds of people
in a public pool on
a Wednesday afternoon.
I seen toddlers, right. Toddlers.
Paedophiles.
And the mentally handicapped.
Now, I felt self-conscious. It's
pretty obvious, I am not a toddler.
There comes a point in life you
need to start making decisions.
You need to think fast. You need to
start taking your swimming gear down
inside a Farmfoods bag,
to show you're not a paedo,
you're just a bit mental.
Try to cut a swimming cap
out of a Farmfoods bag.
'Cause everybody that carries a
Farmfoods bag has got a screw loose.
That is...
I don't mean mentally
handicapped, just a bit mad, right.
That is the universal sign for "Do
not approach me." The Farmfoods bag.
I don't mean people with
three or four Farmfoods bags.
They've just been
shopping in Farmfoods.
It's that one single,
solitary, slightly faded...
"This is my Farmfoods bag.
"There are many others like
it, but this one is mine."
I'd seen a guy with an
inside-out Farmfoods bag.
That is a statement of intent, isn't
it? An inside-out Farmfoods bag.
Like I said, we've got
an obesity epidemic.
Don't know if the facilities...
So we've got an obesity epi...
You've got a bigger waist as well. And
it means you need to shop in shitholes.
You know, you walk in somewhere trendy
like Topshop for a pair of jeans.
Somewhere trendier than
that, maybe. River Island.
Walk into River
Island and some...
you know the sales assistants
that work in these places...
some indie-band freak show,
they come bouncing
across to serve you.
"Hey, man! Yeah! Whoo!"
Telling you to "chill-ax".
"Why don't you just chill-ax, man?"
Anybody ever told you to chill-ax?
They've took the word
"chill" and the word "relax"
and combined them to make ironically the
most infuriating word there's ever been.
Well, they come bouncing over.
They've got that kind of energy and
enthusiasm that oozes from people
who have never been
punched in the face.
But you require this
guy's assistance.
You're in Topshop,
they sell jeans.
You're in Topshop,
you need jeans.
So I had to say, "Excuse me, mate.
Can I try on these jeans, please,
"in a 36-inch waist."
And his enthusiasm...
"Is that you? Good to see
you again. Hey, 36-inch..."
Try a 38.
Try a 38?
Fuck you, man.
I asked the guy to try the jeans on in
a 38-inch waist. Good call, all right?
Shut it! 38-inch waist.
Regardless, 36, 38-inch
waist. You say to the guy,
"Can I try these jeans
on in a 40-inch waist?"
Thirty-eight-inch waist. And the
guy, his enthusiasm just drains.
And he looks at you, appalled.
You know, that way you
would look at somebody
if they just took a
shite in your kettle.
Imagine if somebody took a shite in your kettle
- you'd be furious, wouldn't you?
That's a social faux pas.
"Did you shite in the kettle?"
"I don't come to your house
and shite in your kettle.
"You've changed, man."
Shiteing in kettles.
So I started shopping in
proper shithole clothes shops.
You don't get judged in a
proper shithole clothes shop.
I was in a place
called Dunnes Stores.
It's the hot new up-and-coming
shithole clothes shop on the scene.
Somewhere between
Primark and shoplifting.
Now, I've got a theory
about clothes shops.
I find in a clothes shop,
the cheaper the clothes,
the more aggressive the customer.
Anybody ever done that thing,
you'd be in a shop and
you confuse another shopper
for being a member
of the staff, right?
You go to ask them a question,
and they go, "I don't actually...
"I don't actually work here."
And you go, "I thought
you worked here."
And you both share a
chuckle and move on.
It's finished. However, in Dunnes
Stores, it's no laughing matter.
The cheaper the clothes, the more
aggressive the customer, right.
Tensions run through the
roof in these kind of places.
I was in this dump
when a guy said to me,
said, "Excuse me. Excuse me.
"Excuse me, buddy!
"How much?
"How much are these?"
And I said...
"I don't actually
work here, buddy."
And he said, "That's not
what I fucking asked you."
Dunnes Stores. That
was my first ever,
my first ever
job. Part-time job.
I used to work in
TK Maxx. TK Maxx.
Thank you. TK Maxx.
I was in charge of the
changing rooms. That was my job.
I was the guy that would count
your items, then give you a number.
So, if you trying on three
items, I gave you number three.
And if you were trying on four
items, I gave you a number four.
But we only had
numbers one to six.
And this one time a woman
was trying on seven items.
And everybody was
fucking freaking out.
I said, "Calm ourselves", you
know. "Let's just calm ourselves."
"Give me the six.
Give me the one."
Problem solved.
Unemployment. That
was my first ever job.
I remember being unemployed.
I used to study...
I used to study psychology for
three weeks. That was my thing.
Psychology. Three weeks
studying psychology.
Get a bit freaked out. Sigmund
Freud, he was a sex pest.
He'd a theory that young guys have
sexual feelings towards their own mothers.
I remember reading this and thinking the
guy has obviously never seen my mother.
A lovely woman, but he
wouldn't ride her into battle.
I've been unemployed. I feel
sorry for anybody unemployed...
it's a pretty tough time
to go through in your life.
I remember being
in the job centre.
I think job centres should be
renamed The Shite Job Centre.
You never walk by a job
centre and see in the window,
"Forensic detective required."
"Barrister required."
It's always, "Customer Service
Advisor's Assistant required."
"Could you make the tea for
the guy who makes the coffee?"
I remember being
in the job centre.
Everything is: "Must have
experience, must have qualifications".
I'm just a dickhead,
never had much of that.
Last option, just left
school, you can join the army.
And you've got the British
Army recruitment desk.
You've got the two guys
there, Robson and Jerome.
With the berets on.
The guy's going, "Come here,
son. Be the best. Come on."
"D'you want to get shot?
We'll get you shot. Come on."
I'm thinking, "Me, join the army?
"T-Mobile just said I don't have
enough qualification to sell phones.
"Microsoft just said I don't have
enough experience to answer phones.
"And you want to give
me a machine gun?"
The war on terror. That was supposed to be Obama's thing
- he was gonna end that.
Obama. They get quite excited...
Have we got any
Americans in the room?
Hell, yeah.
Just one guy doing
a shite accent.
They don't normally come
to Glasgow, the Americans.
They visit Edinburgh when they come.
Have we got any Edinburghers here?
Big boo for Edinburghers.
I don't mean this in a disrespectful
way, but I've never really heard the term
"Edinburghers". You know
when you hear a conversation,
and I don't mean this
in a disparaging way,
you hear a conversation in
Scotland, there's an Invernesian,
an Aberdonian, a Dundonian, a
Glaswegian, and a cunt from Edinburgh.
It's true. You never
hear "Edinburghers".
It's "cunt from Edinburgh",
that's what they're called.
Good to see we've got a few cunts
from Edinburgh made it through.
Now, I love the Americans in Edinburgh.
I love them. They're enthusiastic.
You know, up at Edinburgh Castle, the
Americans thinking it's a high school.
'Cause they hear
gunshots every lunchtime.
I've been travelling on this
tour. We were in Belfast.
Belfast, for a couple of nights. I like
Belfast. It's got a kind of vibrant atmosphere.
There's a good chance things could
go off at any minute in Belfast.
What I mean by vibrant, I was walking
through Botanic Avenue in Belfast,
there's a coffee
shop called Clements.
In their window it says, "Clements.
We're religious about coffee."
Which I thought was a slightly
ambiguous mission statement
for the city centre of Belfast.
"A cappuccino, you
feinian bastard."
I was at a Christian
rock festival.
Never meant to be there.
Christian rock fest. I was just passing
through the Christian celebration festival,
there was a stall set up
that said, "A free toastie
"for all of God's children."
A free toastie.
So I thought, "Sha'mon!"
I said, "Good afternoon. Good
afternoon, sir, May I have a toastie?"
And the guy said,
"Are you a Christian?"
And I thought, "Well, if I'm not a
Christian, am I not getting a toastie?"
"That's very un-Christian."
And the guy crumbled under
the weight of my argument.
And he said, "Okay, you can
have cheese or cheese and ham."
And I said, "Oh,
just cheese, mate.
"'Cause I'm a Jew."
That's how you get a free
toastie off the Lord people.
You know the big debate
between religion and science?
You know, atheism's
becoming quite cool in 2010.
The big debate between
religion and science.
I would always take religion,
purely on a basic level.
Remember at school, you know,
science was quite difficult.
Right?
You had to read stuff
and remember stuff, right?
Whereas religious was a skive.
Just some guilt-ridden middle-aged
women reading passages from the Bible
to a class full of hyperactive adolescents
that's pissing themselves laughing
at something that's been
drawn on the blackboard.
I mean, that was a skive.
I'd like to believe in something.
I mean, you don't just live and
then die and that's it, finish.
I'd like to believe there's
something bigger than this.
Know what I mean? It's hard.
You think, where's the evidence?
If there's a God, why
is there so much evil?
And why is there famine, corruption
and greed, stuff like that?
Maybe you need to make up
your own theories, right?
I've combined a bit of
religion, a bit of atheism
and came to my own conclusions.
Maybe God created the world,
but then he fucked off.
He's God, he's gonna have more
than one property, ain't he?
Maybe we've got the place to
ourselves. We've got an empty.
This is the world.
And like all good empties,
it's got a bit out of hand.
That's why you've get
terrorism, corruption, greed.
Maybe God will come
back one day and go,
"Look at the fucking
state of this place."
"Everybody get out."
With your world leaders
and corrupt bankers,
people shuffling
at the door going,
"Sorry, we never thought you were
coming back, mate. Sorry about the mess."
The Pope, certainly now the
Pope knows he's getting grounded.
"I'll speak to you
in a minute, Pope."
No, live and let live. Believe what you want to
believe, unless you're a dick, that's my motto.
Did election fever grab you?
Anybody vote in election?
Anybody get interested in
our big election this year?
I watched the three leadership
debates and I thought, "Wow!
"I'm definitely going to draw a
cock and balls on the ballot paper."
It was quite good when Gordon
Brown got caught on the microphone.
You know, they said he just got unlucky
'cause a microphone just died as...
It just managed to catch
him saying what he said.
I think he got pretty lucky.
If the microphone had stayed on
we'd have heard what
he really thought.
"Oh, just some bigoted
old woman, you know.
"Whose idea was that?
Was that Sue's idea?
"Absolute disaster.
Just a bigoted old...
"What she needed was a good fucking
ride, that's what she needs."
"Eastern European immigrants. Just
a good cock, that's what she needs."
You need Eastern European immigrants.
I was in a party with Polish people.
There was one Polish guy, I
was speaking to him, right,
the Polish guy never spoke any
English, and I don't speak much Polish.
So it became apparent
that a conversation would present some
significant linguistical challenges.
And I remembered I done some
French when I was younger.
French
- find the common denominator with the Polish guy.
So I said, eh,
"Parlez-vous franais?"
And the Polish guy
says, "Oui. "
I'm going,
"Cool."
See, "parlez-vous franais"
is kind of all I've got in the tank.
But the Polish guy now
thinks I speak French, so...
He's going:
"Oui. "
Next day, "Who told that Polish guy
he could take a shite in the kettle?"
You need a bit of immigration
in the world. No, you need a few.
I feel sorry for asylum seekers.
Their applications get expelled,
they get accused of lying.
Lying about being in danger.
I think if somebody's prepared to travel
thousands of miles in the back of a lorry,
starving themselves for weeks, risking
their lives at the border controls,
just to get a council
flat in Sighthill,
something's frightening
the shite out of them.
You know the BNP, this year they got forced
to allow non-white people to join the BNP.
I thought that was pretty cool.
I'd encourage people
from every ethnic group
to join the BNP.
Ruin their party.
I'd love to live in a country where
the white supremacists are black.
"I'm supposed to be racist. Who's
this guy? How is he in my team?"
We had a bit of racial animosity
in this city, in Glasgow,
when we got our terrorist
attack. Remember that?
Glasgow airport, we got our
own little terrorist attack.
Pretty proud of that.
Kind of put us on the map.
Islamic fundamentalists attacked New
York, Madrid, London and then Glasgow.
We were fucking flattered.
My dad had a tear in his
eye. "It's a proud day, son."
I saw it on the telly.
"Well, I've been there."
"I've parked there!"
And everybody had a laugh,
but terrorism does
have a negative side.
It did create a kind
of racial divide.
I witnessed this firsthand on a
train, going down south on this train.
Just me sitting here
and a middle-aged guy
sitting just along a bit.
Now, a couple of stops later,
a women of Asian appearance
boarded the train and sat
beside the middle-aged guy,
who immediately stood
up and walked away.
You ever seen that film
Snakes on a Plane?
This was jakes on a
train, right? That's funny.
Walked away...
The middle-aged guy stood
up and just walked away
and sat beside me.
He started to nudge me.
You know that way a scumbag presumes
you're also gonna be a scumbag?
Nudging me, and he's pointing,
and he said, "I don't fancy
sitting beside her, pal.
"No chance. She'll be one
of their suicide bombers.
"I'm taking no chances."
I thought, "I can see
your logic here, mate,
"you thought she might
be a suicide bomber.
"So you've came and
sat four seats away?"
Seriously underestimating
the power of Semtex.
"Think she's got a stink bomb?"
"This is the jihad for Allah!"
"Oh, it's fucking bowfin here!"
"Open that window. Smelly
Taliban bastards. Oh..."
That is disgusting.
Somebody got a can of Febreze?
There's been a terrorist attack.
That is absolutely minging.
And you're stuck with
the guy the whole way.
Going down south,
going to London.
The guy said, "You going to London?"
And I said, "I'm going to London."
And he said, "I
don't like London."
Guys like me and you, mate, we
are the foreigners in London.
They're coming over here, mate,
and they're speaking Punjabi.
I loved the way the
guy said "Punjabi".
It was pretty funny.
"They're speaking Punjabi."
"And wearing these burkas,
mate. This is our country.
If they want to come
into our country,
"they should at least be
adapting to our culture."
And I'm looking at this guy,
thinking, "I bet when he goes abroad,
"he really blends in."
Walking about Lanzarote
looking for a Greggs.
"You don't understand my accent?
A Daily Record, you dick!"
The summertime's approaching.
Holiday time's coming up.
Anybody going on holiday?
Oh, yeah!
I've been on a few
different types of holidays.
I went on holiday when I was
younger, like seven years old,
there was a big age gap
between me and my brother.
So I had to go at
seven years old,
with just me, my mum and dad,
and I'd be bored on the first day.
My mum would say, "Don't worry.
Don't worry. I'll find you a wee pal.
"Don't worry, we'll find you a wee friend.
We'll find you somebody to play with."
You get introduced
to some little stray.
He would come with a disclaimer.
"Kevin, this is Brandon. Brandon,
he doesn't like the pool."
And I'd say, "Hi, Brandon."
He'd say, "Hi, Kev."
Brandon doesn't
like the sunshine.
Brandon doesn't play football.
Brilliant! Two weeks in
Majorca, sitting in the shade
playing Connect
Four with an albino.
Now, you go on holiday,
lying around the pool,
relaxing during the day,
and here comes this guy
with a T-shirt on and a whistle,
who's the leader of the kids' club.
This prick. Leader
of the kids' club.
Blowing his whistle, trying to
get the kids into the shallow end
for a game of water polo.
You've got all these wee,
inbred, mutant bastards
screaming and splashing.
"Good morning!"
It's that accent again:
"Mummy, Daddy just farted!"
"Mummy, can I have an ice cream?"
Then there's the Scottish kids,
they're just kind of floating.
They're still fucked
from the night before.
"Water polo, mate? Maybe
some other time, eh?"
"We're not long in, mate. We
just got in, man, honestly."
"I was doing two-for-ones in
that sports caf last night."
"I've got a throat like
a junkie's carpet, man."
"Mummy, can I have an ice cream?"
"Oh, Dad?"
"Oh, Dad?"
"Oh, Dad?"
"Oh, Brian?"
"Give me another
one of your fags."
"Give us a fag."
Beside you is the
Scottish boy's mum and dad.
I say "dad"
- Brian, I don't know, the guy that took the hit.
She's saying, "That's embarrassing.
That is absolutely cringe-worthy.
"He's only 12 and he's
asking me for a fag."
"He's asking me and you for a fag.
He's only 12. You better speak to him."
Your mum's worried about
looking cringe-worthy...
she's sitting there with
"Lidl" and "Aldi" tattooed...
"You better speak to him."
The dad goes... Brian goes, "Don't
worry, hen, I'll speak to him."
"Ho! You fucking get your
own fags, you wee dick."
They're only a quid a packet.
Then you get a bit older, and you
go on a holiday with your mates,
as I'm sure a few of you are
doing, a few young people.
And then go on your first
holiday with your mates,
that's when you
see proper carnage.
You go on holiday with your
mates, you confuse having a laugh
and being a major
health-and-safety hazard.
You see groups of guys
walking about the airport.
- "Anything to declare?"
- "Aye, he's a gay boy."
"You said, 'Anything to declare?'
and I said 'He's a gay boy.'
"On us holidays. Gonna
be mental, us holidays."
The carnage starts before you
even leave your own country.
And on the plane, about to
leave, that's when you see chaos.
On a plane, you know, guys just swinging
their T-shirts round their head on the plane.
There's always one guy, delayed,
he's getting the final call,
back in the departure lounge,
final, final call, final call.
The whole plane is delayed,
seatbelts fastened, waiting to go,
waiting on this guy.
He finally emerges. Front of
the plane, this sombrero emerges.
And rather than apologise
for the inconvenience
and the delay that he's
caused everybody on the plane,
he just kind of scopes the cabin
to find the rest of his pals.
And shouts...
"Here we go!"
And the whole plane's
thinking, "No chance."
"This plane better crash."
Guy's swinging his T-shirt
round his head, singing.
It's the kind of flight that you want
to see a hijacker on, on that plane.
You won't see an al-Qaeda
suicide-bomb attempt on that plane,
Glasgow to Palma.
I don't mean that in a
self-congratulatory way.
I think the hijackers
would have the manpower,
the willpower, determination,
and the belief. The only stumbling
block would be getting a word in.
On that flight, Glasgow to Palma.
You've spent the last 15 years of
your life in Taliban training camps
on the flight simulator,
ready to die for a cause you believe in,
ready to give your life for 72 virgins.
For Allah, for the jihad.
You're on that plane.
You try to stay focused
- must be pretty intense.
The place you need to
go to inside your mind
to commit such an atrocity.
You try to concentrate
whilst an inflatable crocodile
gets smacked up the
back of your head.
"Gonna pass that back
up, mate? Cheers."
But the show must go on.
The kamikaze headband goes on.
You're in the aisle, shouting,
"Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar!"
Nobody bats an eyelid.
People singing and
banging the windows.
"Allah Akbar!"
People having drunken
conversations, just...
"Are We Humans or
Are We Dancers?
"That song really
spoke to me. Uh.
"'Cause obviously I'm
human, but I like to dance.
"Is there an option for
a guy like me in this?"
"He's hijacking the plane?
I'll bust him. Where is he?"
I'll put the fag out in a minute, mate. I'm
dealing with a potential terror threat here."
"Fucking jobsworth."
The guy's still shouting,
"Allah Akbar!"
"Sit on your arse, I'm
trying to see the telly."
"You just do wee cans?
Pringles, Pringles?
"Pringles?"
And eventually,
Eventually telling the guy to
sit on his arse, cuddle the guy,
a beautiful moment for world
peace, not just sitting there,
but saying "Are you killing
yourself for 72 virgins, mate?
"We're going to Magaluf, man."
I love it. Ladies and gentlemen at Glasgow,
it's been a pleasure talking to you.
Thanks a lot
for coming up.
Goodnight, God
bless. See you soon.
Where are you going?
That was just a wee shite bit.
Then you come back on.
Away to catch the bus,
away to catch the garage.
So I'm back. What was that?
Say again?
I don't have a clue what
that guy's saying now.
I genuinely don't know
what you're saying, mate.
I'd love to hear what you're saying, it
sounds pretty coherent and stuff like that.
And you're gonna translate for
the guy, an even drunker guy?
No, what he said was...
So...
I love you!
I love you as well,
baby. I love you.
Turned into a bit of a
Michael Buble concert there.
So, we're making a DVD this evening,
so you've been part of the audience.
Thanks a lot for that.
A DVD that's probably already
on sale in the barrows.
Give you five DVDs for
forty quid. There you go.
You're a real bastard!
I just heard "bastard"
there. I'm not even gonna...
I'm not gonna ask what
preceded the word "bastard".
It sounded pretty positive, to be
fair. Just ended pretty severe. Bastard.
Bus stop!
"Tell us the bus-stop joke."
Just there.
Think I'm jukebox?
Put a wee quid in...
I've got three jokes.
There's a pound.
Presto!
I done that joke,
the bus-stop joke,
that was my first ever
joke on mainstream TV.
I done that joke, and
about three weeks...
About three weeks after the show
broadcast, I was at a bus stop, right?
And a guy across the
street shouted, "Fat boy!"
"Give me a quid, or
you're getting stabbed."
And I just started laughing.
The other three or four
people at the bus stop,
they never knew what
was going on, right?
They just heard this
and see me laughing,
and they thought that
guy must be hard as nails.
I'm a bus guy. Still take
public transport, I'm a bus guy.
I'm a bus... I
take one of their...
Every area's got a rough bus.
You know, one of the kind of
Glasgow safaris that you get.
The number 40 bus.
It runs from Clydebank
to Easterhouse...
via Drumchapel.
As if they went, "Clydebank to Easterhouse.
I'm not sure that's mental enough.
"No..."
"We better stick this
through Drumchapel."
On my bus, I've seen three
generations of the one family
get on for a half fair.
So, how did they enjoy the SECC?
First time here,
first time in the SECC?
Aye.
Nobody ever... Nobody
talks about the show.
After the SECC, they always talk
about the prices, don't they?
"Guess how much?"
"Guess how much we paid for three
drinks? Have a guess, guess how much?
"For three drinks."
The key is to aim high and kill
the conversation stone dead.
"50 quid."
"We thought it was quite expensive,
but it sounds as if we got a bargain."
So, we'll finish up on a joke.
Has anybody ever what?
Has anybody ever
shat in my kettle?
Since we last did the show it's
happened on several occasions.
We'll finish up...
I don't know... How am I
gonna hear what you're saying?
Does that make sense to even
you guys in the audience there?
Just a gun noise...
A-E-I, make a sentence
out of that one, dick.
So, we'll finish up. Obviously
the DVD is about six months away,
so we need to predict the future,
or it's gonna look pretty weird.
You could watch on
a DVD and wonder,
"How come he never mentioned the fact
that North Korea blew the world up?"
or something like that.
So what about England
winning the World Cup, eh?
What about England
getting fucked?
We'll wait and see what one makes
the edit. Ladies and gentlemen,
goodnight, have a great journey
home, God bless. Thank you.