Monday, 5 March 2012

Haunted by Norwich

I spent a couple of years in Norwich. It's where I started doing comedy, and where I met Lorcan McGrane. It was great craic, scraping pennies to go to each gig around Norwich and the surrounding area; from Odeon bars where we shared the stage with the obligatory obstructive pool table, to abandoned-looking art studios in ever so slightly dodgy parts of the city where the absinthe ran free and the heating was decidedly off. We would always toast our comedy victories with a sip of tepid, canned Carling after being refused entry to late-opening, table-servicing drinkeries after the staff had witnessed us boking under-cooked bacon up in the street whilst leaning against a bin.

Despite all these glittering memories, I am periodically tormented by an East Anglian entity that sears even more disturbing imagery into my mind.

I can see how it's amusing, but it frightens me more than anything. If it were a CGI bull then there'd be no problem, my brain would write it off and I'd continue as normal. Real puppetry and prosthetics are always far more terrifying than post production; look at movies like Alien and E.T. - absolutely horrifying. Even the old-school zombie films like Romero's Night Of The Living Dead still scares the crap out of me; the less movie magic involved, the more believable it is. This Colman's Bull, much like those antagonists, is relentless and unstoppable.

He just broke through a door to watch these people eat meat.

"Sorry I'm late, is this yours? I found it on the door."

That's like something The Joker would say before forcing them to arbitrarily pick which family member to roast and devour next. He's wearing a suit and has the right attitude, so why not?

Colman's has a long history of being a bit fucked up anyway, check this ad from a while ago.

What the hell like? Even gravy's not safe.

Maybe this is all because I never visited Norwich's Mustard Shop, where in order to release yourself from these nightmares you must lick mustard from the hoof of the squinty-eyed Colman's Bull. At least that's what last night's mind soup came up with.

I reckon I could get in on this gravy ad business.

It makes just as much sense as the rest of this stuff.