Oh, to be in England!

Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England - now!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows
Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops - at the bent spray's edge
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!

And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower, -
Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Robert Browning (1812-1889)

I was never really a fan of Robert Browning in my youth. I thought him weary and trite and too fond of the Romantic poets for his own good. Now, as I approach my own 'season of mists and mellow fruitfulness', I find I'm starting to rather like him. Is this a natural consequence of ageing, I wonder?

Also, I know that he was from down south and so probably writing about the Home Counties' countryside, but I can't help connecting his words with the Lake District. I get my fix of this beautiful place through Tony Richards' Lakeland Cam website. Every day the erstwhile postman takes photos of the region on his daily walks and posts them to his site.

I love to look and them and sigh, and although they fill me with homesickness, I wouldn't miss them for the world. Because my parents have a house there, the pictures often show their road; their village; their pub; even their house.

I've walked and run over those hills; I've eaten in those tea-shops and I've drunk (and been drunk) in those pubs. Looking at these pictures every day is the most exquisite form of nostalgia.

I love the lambs and the flowers and the trees and the grass and the little grey villages surrounded by hills. And at this time of year, when we in the southern hemisphere are cold and wet and windy, everything looks so green. It's very hard to take spring pictures (as I've discovered) - cameras don't seem to be able to cope well with the dappled light effect through the whispering leaves. Tony Richards manages to capture it effortlessly.

Green is my favourite colour and it bursts out of these pictures with a glad welcome. Oh, to be in England indeed...

Poles apart but on the same wavelength

In the last week I saw an Australian and a Scottish comedian. Although from different hemispheres and as far away from each other as it is geographically possible to be, they were both very funny. I'm taking this as proof that humour is universal.

I like a good laugh, and I really don't care where it comes from. Of course, we are more likely to laugh at things we recognise and can identify with. Perhaps we are not so different after-all. Perhaps there is a shared comedy gene buried in our history and culture? Perhaps it's just because they both have a love/hate relationship with the English?

Mickey D: Too Mickey, Bro!
San Francisco Bath House, 19-23 May

The premise of Mickey D’s act is that we should be able to laugh at anything and everything – I bet he doesn’t go down well in Afghanistan. Or Germany for that matter. Some of his material even seemed a little close to the bone for politically-correct-sensitive-souls-we-all-work-for-the-Government Wellington and there were some sharp intakes of breath at the Bathhouse.

Fortunately, these were matched by the splutterings of laughter that can’t be held back because it’s just funny. Laughing may be a sign of weakness in his native Australia, but it’s good for the heart and soul. He’s good at mocking Australians and their characteristics – partly pigeon but mostly lizard – which works well with his audience.

Aussie men and women are equally ridiculed, and his heckling father and extended family are not above being sacrificed for the sake of a good laugh. The differences between Aussies and Kiwis are illuminated through a few set scenes such as parties and tourism activities. As he says, Australians are just too Lleyton Hewitt for their own good.

Once he has the audience on side, he throws in a few more risqué gags; what not to say during sex, and some material about children with disabilities that has a few people looking anxious. He promises us that it’ll get funny in a minute and it does. There is a serious side to his comedy but then comedy and tragedy are the two-faced gods of drama and Mickey D is far too bright not to know this.

Danny Bhoy
The Opera House, 21-23 May

I may be ever so slightly in love with Danny Bhoy – there, I’ve said it. He’s charming, intelligent, funny, good-looking, self-deprecating, and master of a fabulously lilting accent. ‘Bastard’ said my husband, but then he was laughing too. Danny Bhoy is simply impossible not to like.

His material is not exactly cutting edge. He talks about staying in hotels, trying to chat up girls (I refuse to believe he has any problem with that), making woefully bad first impressions, and trying to enunciate when drunk. It’s stuff we could all talk about, although nowhere near so well.

He holds his audience in the palm of his hand, knowing exactly when to press on and when to back off. He’s observational and conversational, and you could listen to him talk all night. Even though he’s been touring for the past four moths, I reckon he could do it too. Even the ‘hit and run hecklers’ couldn’t phase him, although I can only imagine what he will say about New Zealand when he gets back home.

He’s a bit hard on the Kiwi accent which isn’t entirely fair – we can’t all sound Scottish – but he’s aware that his imitation is poor. He’s not a mimic but he is a raconteur in the old classic style. He’ll be telling a story when he just shoots off on a tangent before coming back to the place he started and spinning us up in his intricate web. I’ll bet the long winter nights just fly by.

Burnley are back!

Congratulations to Burnley who have clawed their way back into the top flight of football after 30 years of trying.

Him Outdoors is delighted and wearing his colours to work (hat and scarf knitted by his grandmother almost 40 years ago) and a grin on his face. If he had any nails to bite, they would all be gone after sitting up this morning watching the play-off final and shouting at the TV - this helps apparently.

His dad first took him to the games in the '70s when they were still a force to be reckoned with. He has watched his team plummet all the way down through the divisions and he was there when they nearly slid out of the football league altogether. He has anxiously watched them rise back to the top and he and his town deserve a little footballing happiness.

They may indeed be Turf Morons but it will be good to welcome them to the top grounds around the country next season. I've seen Liverpool play at Turf Moor at many a cup game and it's a fine addition to the North West venue circuit. Just stay out of the pubs - some of them are less than desirable and full of 80s 'fashion' throwbacks. People will be going to Burnley and leaving in stunned amazement - they won't know what has hit them. There are still pockets of the North West with fanatics (in the true sense) supporting (again, in the true sense) teams you never knew existed. Good luck to the town.

They are under no illusions and know that the toughest job will be just hanging in there. They will receive a much-needed cash injection but with a squad of a mere 23 players, it will be hard going against the glamour boys. Less than an hour after they won promotion, bookies have already released odds on them going straight back down, as has happened to 10 of the last 17 teams to reach the Premier League through the play-off final.

This may all come to pass. I don't know why I've gone all biblical there, except there is something stirring about one of the founding teams of the best football league in the world finally making it back. This is their moment. Let them enjoy it.

Mid-year comedy resolution

It's the end of the comedy festival for another year, and I've had a pretty good one and seen a variety of performers. There have been a few scandals thrown up in the face of laughter which make for interesting comment.

One was Rhys Darby crisiticing reviews for giving away punch-lines and saying this was a lazy form of reviewing. This may be so, but surely if a reviewer throws one line into a review, the comic has plenty more where that came from? If he only has one joke, would it be worth seeing his show? The one-liner may give a flavour of the performance to come, like a trailer for a film or the blurb on a book jacket. And how else can a reviewer talk about a comic without mentioning the material?

Another topic of debate was a criticism that reviewers of comedy are usually theatre or music reviewers and therefore don't know much about comedy. Again, this may be so. I would be surprised if there were any dedicated comedy reviewers in this country, as there's simply not enough of it. So we might not be au-fait with the latest in comedy conceits and hilarity theory, but surely we can tell if it makes us and others laugh. Isn't that the point? Or am I missing it in my unspecialised critic way?

Thirdly, on his Dominion Post, entertainment blog, Simon Sweetman complained about the lack of humour to be found in an "interchangeable local female comedian referring to her genitalia a lot." This was, of course, designed to get a reaction - and it did. People love to loath critics. He also had the audacity to suggest that The Flight of the Conchords was just "the same joke over and over." This is tantamount to treason here, where you have to publicly declare alleigance to anything that New Zealand produces.

So there has been much frothing at the mouth over who is funnier - us or them. It was pointed out that the international acts performing here during the festival are at the top of their game and have received some sort of investment to get them this far. Admittedly my favourites of the festival are English, Irish, Scottish, Canadian and even Australian.

Kiwis aren't really known for being a funny people. They are the Switzerland of the southern hemisphere; beautiful scenery and a little bit too uptight. But their stand-up comedians are definitely worth a look. From Jeremey Elwood to Dai Henwood, Steve Wrigley to Jan Maree, there are some very funny people out there strutting and sweating their stuff on the boards with only a microphone and a glass of water for company.

They're well worth supporting and my mid-year's resolution is to see more live comedy. I'll be hanging out at venues lending my support to anyone with the guts to try and be entertaining. First up is this trio of non-interchangeable female comedians who I don't think mentioned their genitalia once between them....

The Comediettes,
Fringe Bar, 19-23 May

Three Kiwi women walk into a pub. No, it’s not a joke, but it is a great night of comedy. The Comediettes are book-ended by Jim Stanton and Emma Olsen, with Sarah Harpur thrown into the middle for contrast. Both have a fairly dead-pan delivery and have managed to master the art of saying truly random statements with a straight face.

This is the fourth time I have seen Jim and each time she walks a fine and well-balanced line between jaded cynicism and fresh material. She is at her best with physical comedy and throughout her piece about reluctant dancing I could feel her pain.

Emma introduces herself as the ethnic quotient of the trio and proceeds to pull random images (literally in some cases, which I won’t spoil for you) from the air. She makes a virtue out of ignorance and her line about proving that anyone can get a degree from Victoria University these days is nicely judged.

Sarah bounds onto the stage like a delinquent sunbeam. High pitched and high voltage she delivers spite with a smile. Her grin is so infectious that she can dish out the insults and you will readily laugh at yourself. The songs she performs at the end of her set are hilarious and she has a pukkah hunch when to deliver the sucker-punch. She is the winner of the 2009 Raw Comedy Quest and on the basis of this set, I can see why.

The Comediettes do themselves a slight disservice with their underwear-strewn set backed with airbrushed pictures of themselves a-la Desperate Housewives. The flyers for discounts on shoes were well received by the women in the audience although I overheard some muttering from a couple of men thinking it was all going to be “girls’ stuff”. These women are anything but desperate and in fact radiate composure which promises bright things for the future of New Zealand comedy.

Carry on laughing

Well, I went to the beginning of the Comedy Festival and had First Laughs, and I have had many laughs since then. For a review of four of the shows I've seen, you can read my review on the Lumiere website.

Two of the big names were Steve Coogan and Dylan Moran - both whom I was keen to see.

Steve Coogan was good, performing a range of his characters including Paul and Pauline Calf, Tony Ferrino (singing sensation of Latin extraction) and, of course, Alan Partridge. As with Beau Tyler, his skit was based on a self-improvement scheme: it seems it's the new comedy.

My favourite bit was the music hall style number at the end which, with it's jaunty chorus - 'Everyone's a bit of a c*&t sometimes' - and cheeky chappy delivery, had a very Monty Python feel to it.

Steve Coogan is a slick and polished professional with perfect pitch and timing. He's got a great voice too and is an excellent performer and entertainer. However, on the basis of this show, I'm not sure that he is a stand-up comedian as much as an actor and raconteur.

Dylan Moran was absolutely excellent. He pretends to be shambolic, rambling and disorganised, but he is so very keen and sharp and I love his material. He probably does have existentialist intense arguments with himself in the pub after one too many red wines.

He was drinking on stage and I'm pretty sure it wasn't put on. I would have to say he's one of the best comics I've ever seen live (along with Jack Dee, my second favourite grumpy old git) - he seems genuinely bemused and amused by life.

The end of the dream... is just the beginning

Okay, so we didn't win the title and it's all our fault. Those draws against just-promoted sides early in the season have come back to bite us in the bum. Of course it is disappointing to (possibly) be the only side ever to have lost just two games and not won the title.

With a defensive record to be proud of and Reina's golden gloves on the line, Carragher lost it with Arbeloa, which wasn't pretty but showed a determination in the defensive lines that bodes well for next season - yes I'm looking to next season now; it's hard to dwell on the past.

Liverpool have also beaten the club record in terms of Premier League points, but still not won the title. Apart from the early losses, the main reason for this is, obviously, Manchester United. They should be congratulated for their consistency. The fact that Benitez will not congratulate Ferguson only adds fuel to his fire, and makes Rafa seems churlish.

Even if you don't like their manager or some of their players (which I don't) there is no denying that they have won the games they needed to win with a toughness of spirit that is essential to a champion team. Man Utd have now equalled Liverpool's title-winning triumphs, which makes for a great contest next season if nothing else.

But there is a bright side to all this. Stevie G is the Football Writers' Player of the Year (despite Ferguson publicly questioning his credentials) and he has, in fact, played superbly. My favourite was, naturally, the goal against Man Utd in the 4-1 drubbing at Old Trafford.

We'll be back. Meanwhile, I'm supporting Burnley for the Championship. We are buying the lottery tickets but Him Outdoors says how disappointing would it be to get all the way over there only to see them lose - very, I should imagine.

So he too is looking forward to next season where he's hoping he'll be supporting his side playing in the top-flight once again, and actually getting to see them on TV in this country. There may be one or two frosty silences in our house. Bring it on!

Look-i-like-i

Today we bring you the latest from the look-i-like-i files (okay, so I've only ever done one before and that was a year ago). Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed the similarity between baby-faced England bowler Stuart Broad (above), and spoiled, sneering Slytherin student (and Harry Potter nemesis), Draco Malfoy (below).

No? Just me, then.