I went to see Lucy Porter at the local arts centre last Friday, she is funny and tells good jokes. Plus she was wearing a basque in one of her publicity shots so I thought it would be good for us to go see her in the flesh. You know to listen to her tell her jokes and stuff.

I was a little late to the pub beforehand, so had to snaffle down a couple of quick pints before the announced 8:15 showtime. At 8:40 I was still sat waiting for it to start, with a bulging bladder.

The compare was quite good, and told me about the race riots a few hundred yards from where I live that I’d not actually heard about. He then introduced an unexpected support act, a nice Aussie girl whose name escapes me.

She told a few jokes and rubbed her boobs a lot. She was quite good.

As her set came towards it’s conclusion, my desperation for the loo got worse. I decided I would rather miss a couple seconds of boob rubbing, than the main basque wearing comedienne, so got up and went to the loo and to get a round in.

My wee was more ferocious than normal, as I was forcing it out so as not to miss any more of the boob rubbing comedy than I absolutely had to.

I struggled back to the seats with two pints of Grolsh, a bottle of wine, and a bottle of Bud and sat down, relieved, to hear the last joke from the compare, and then he concluded,

“So, be back here in twenty minutes for tonights star attraction, Lucy Porter!”

The lights came up, and people looked to make the most of the unannounced and unexpected intermission.

“We should all go to the bar now, oh, and Angry, you missed a lot of booby feely”, said Fat Jim.

‘Nice one’ I thought.

If there’s going to be a support act, and an intermission, please say so before I guzzle numerous beers and have to sneak to the loo missing some potential booby feely.

Oh, and after all that she didn’t even wear a basque. Disappointing.

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