Ali Brice’s mental health continues to slip slowly into decline. The other day he stood in the hall wearing nothing but a towel and showing us all his testicles while making direct eye contact with all of us and not saying a thing. I just stood there drinking an Americano and laughed and laughed and laughed.
In other news, I got a 1-star review from the List the other day and responded by spending all night collecting up every copy of the List I could find and eating it. I now have ink poisoning as a result and have lost five stone, but that’s just helped even more with the whole “Joz is looking handsome this Fringe” theme (even the Herald took note of the enviable return of my cheekbones this August).
Anyway, it’s time for Blog 4, with all the hot gossip and insider industry buzz.
Well, here’s a turn-up for the books. John Otway, the legendary 70s punk musician and outsider music icon, is doing a free show for PBH’s Free Fringe. It’s often been said of John Otway that he’s effectively the Joz Norris of the music world (clumsiness, ego, disastrous career decisions), so this picture represents a real meeting of minds, a union of two twin souls. He was just rolling around Bristo Square in his little Otway-mobile, and I seized my opportunity, grabbed a selfie, and then chloroformed him and bundled him back to my flat. Right now he is still tied up in my wardrobe, singing “Really Free” at the top of his voice in an attempt to summon help.
Meanwhile, one of the more curious developments this Fringe has been my slow transformation into Matthew Highton. Essentially, a few months ago I built a teleportation machine and tried to test it out late one night, without realising that a rogue Matthew Highton had gotten into the pod with me. The effects took a while to become apparent, but soon I noticed I was wearing Hawaiian shirts, white stripy jackets and brightly coloured tight trousers with alarming regularity. More recently my hair has started to curl of its own accord and my accent has been creeping ever further Northwards. This photo captures the increasing similarity in its early-to-mid-stages.
It’s not all been Champagne and caviar, though, this Fringe. My ongoing campaign to try and perfect the group selfie has hit upon a stumbling block via my discovery of something called a Photo Bomb. This is where some dickhead sees you having a lovely time trying to take a selfie and decides that this should be THEIR moment, that THEY need to hog the spotlight. It’s a downright dirty trick, and a horrible, shitstain thing to do, but people do it. I guess I’ve learned a lot about people this Fringe, and not all of it has been positive. Some people are just plain nasty. Here’s a lovely picture of me and Sara Shulman that’s been totally ruined by some cockhead trying to be funny. A real, crushing disappointment.
I ran into the One-Eyed Men on the Royal Mile, who are doing a sort of Tommy Cooper tribute act-based show this year. I’ve not seen it, but have done my best to fathom out what their show might be based on their costumes. To be honest, I find them a little bit disappointing. While the fezzes themselves are spot on, they seem to have made the mistake of attaching a large milk bottle covered in plastic jewels to the fez, which is either just plain wrong or a reference to a very obscure Tommy Cooper sketch I’m not familiar with. They’re usually very funny guys, but I fear this show is just nor quite faithful enough to their iconic hero. I do, however, like the bald man about to dive into Ben’s ear.
I was thrilled and delighted by the wonderful show “Margaret Thatcher: Queen of Soho,” in which everybody’s favourite former Prime Minister entertains the crowd with a number of pop hits and witty anecdotes. It was only when I got home to study this picture that my suspicions were raised – firstly, she’s wearing a radio mic, which I take a dim view of. A good Prime Minister should be able to command a crowd with an unamplified voice, and I began to worry this wasn’t the real Thatcher at all. Also, there’s just something about the face, the makeup, the hair in this picture that doesn’t feel quite right. I fear I may have been duped. I need to do my research, but I strongly suspect that the Thatcher in the show is not the real Thatcher and that people are being duped by the dozen. Treat this show with caution.
I was given a packet of Love Hearts and found this one. For one, this to me doesn’t feel in keeping with the spirit of what Love Hearts are supposed to do. For another, it’s spookily appropriate.
At the bottom of the Royal Mile I ran into none other than my BFFN (Best Friend For Now) Liberty Hodes, co-lead vocalist and dramaturg for the cult band the Dickheads. She was busy growing a new Mark Dean Quinn out of the ground, as the last one has run out of batteries. He is about half-grown here, and Liberty is waving him up out of the ground to encourage him to fulfil his potential. When he is fully grown at about six o’clock today he will be ready to go round flyering for everybody while disguised as a box again.
I got all excited about this as I thought I had made it onto the Sold Out board because my show sold out yesterday. It did, but it turns out this board actually identifies the artists who have sold out in the corporate sense, and my inclusion was actually a savage attack on my recent contract to be the new face of Pepsi*. Also, I seem to be inadvertently pointing at Dan Schreiber’s name instead of my own anyway, so this photo is just all kinds of wrong. Classic Norris.
*I am not actually the new face of Pepsi. Sorry for any confusion caused.
That’s all for today, everybody. Keep on spreading the love and bringing good cheer to you and your mates. Lots o’ love. Jo Snorris. xxx
Joz Norris: Awkward Prophet
Underbelly, Bristo Square
Jul 30 – Aug 25, 4.20pm