A squashed Elvis with the hair of a sixties girl.
Isn't he lovely? Talking with my script editor, beloved friend and mentor Fishbox in the car this morning about what a fine piece of work Noel Fielding was. If you want to catch some of his slinky-hipped, lady-haired surreal comic genius, watch The Mighty Boosh tonight at 8:30pm on SBS. If you've seen their live show, you'll like the tv version. If you haven't, you'll probably think they're a pair of incredibly disturbed twats. Either way.
Fishbox, who has never struck me as a girl who'd go jelly-kneed at the sight of a velvet-trewed comedian, wistfully wondered what it would be like to have a big tongue-kiss with Noel during comedy festival. I told her someone I knew actually did once, in the kitchen of the Hi-Fi Bar, even though she wasn't an official jokie*. 'That sort of thing pays off you know,' said Fishbox with authority. She was referring, of course, to that heady month where International comedians hook up with fluttery-eyed Melburnians for cheap sex and/or marriage proposals.
Ross Noble? met his now-wife during comedy fest. Daniel Kitson got busy with an Australian bird or two. And Simon Munnery fell in love with his wife when she heckled him during a show. She yelled out: 'Don't die.'
Simon Munnery was on my radio show a little while ago, playing his top 5 rooting songs and being deliberately odd. Spotting a splint on his hand I made some crass comment about him pulling a ligament from too much masturbation. 'Oh no,' he said, looking down at the hand in question, 'I've had cancer and this is from the chemotherapy.' A long, and not uninteresting, pause ensued. After a moment, I tried a cunning save. 'Sorry about the whole...masturbation thing,' I said. 'That's alright,' he replied cheerfully, 'it's numb now so I can pretend I'm being pulled off by a spastic.'
* comedy groupie.
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