I have never...heckled

I'm pretty sure I've never heckled a comedian before. I've definitely sat there in the row watching and thinking I have something pertinent and amusing to shout out. But my mouth always let me down and leaves me with a rush of adrenalin that is neither use not ornament. Ornamental adrenalin...Good name for an album.

Anyway I finally got to see Mark Watson tonight and I cried. Not in a depressed way, but in a mascara running, body crumpling, can't catch your breath giggly sort of a way. Which I certainly haven't done lately and after the day I've had today I rather needed. It was the re-enactment that tipped me over the edge - to tell you any more would spoil it. I could feel his awkwardness and pain in a scene so full of comedy I lost it somewhat. Children's TV has a lot to answer for.

This is why I can't write reviews. The only way to do it justice is to sum up what happened. But that seems unfair to someone who had a genuinely brilliant idea (and frankly he would admit a bit of a breakdown) and brought it to life. So I won't. You can buy a ticket.

Anyway before tonight I had never heckled. I felt like I needed to. I wanted to be part of this hilarious night god dammit. So what piece of pithy comedic wisdom did I shout out for my first foray into heckling?

Oh I named a village in Lincolnshire, nearly loudly enough for him to hear. I was then laughing so hard (at the word "Pinchbeck" and someone mentioning Spalding) that I wasn't concentrating when Mark asked for it to be repeated. So Paul answered him and he used it to raise a laugh. It could have gone worse but it was hardly my finest hour. I'm not sure I'll be heckling again.

Mark Watson though. Proper funny.

I have never... seen Billy Elliot

Some weeks there seems little time for something new and amazing. And clearly sometimes I cheat and use something easy. Which is ok because next Saturday I'm going to a cocktail making evening and then attending a folk metal album launch. So comme ci comme ca.

I had never seen Billy Elliot The Musical. And Paul had never been to National Theatre live show at the cinema so that surely counts too. It was brilliant (apart from a few shonky camera shots and some dubious Newcastle accents from the adults which I can forgive because), the children were astounding. I mean the cast of Matilda was brilliant but the lead in Billy Elliott is on stage practically the entire time and never stops dancing. Ten years old he was when he got the role. I can't quite take that in.

There was a bit where he's singing to his dead mother. That didn't go well. The people next to me must have thought I was a right snivelling sap. But to be fair they did keep clapping. I'm not sure for whose benefit.

The soundtrack was a bit forgettable, but I don't suppose Elton John would be all that concerned I think that.

Right at the very end there was a finale with 27 Billy Elliots dancing on stage at once.

I came out on a high thinking tap dancing should be on my list when clearly that would be an error of judgement.

I have never... been to The Great Gatsby

I've realised upon writing this title that I've never actually read the Great Gatsby. Which could count I suppose for another week if I'm running out of ideas.

This is a Sheffield never have though and I had never been in the Great Gatsby (well I don't think I have but I was very drunk on Pub Scrawl the other year so may have blanked it out) and I've never seen the Jar Family. So last Friday I did both.

The Great Gatsby is a perfectly good pub on Division Street staffed largely by, what I now understand to be termed, Hipsters. They have tattoos, beards and quiffs. Well the men anyway. I often wonder whether by employing staff who ooze cool you are hoping that your clientele will follow suit. Bummer. We turned up. I'm about as close to being a hipster as I am at running a marathon and Paul simply cannot grow an acceptable level of facial hair for all that (as we learnt the hard way one Movember).

So we went, with lovely friends, none of whom could be classed as hipsters. We went upstairs to the tiny gig room and saw the Jar Family who were brilliant and weirdly completely free. I convinced myself I couldn't have been that drunk as I was clearly dancing in rhythm. Well I thought I was anyway. I was drunk. Quite drunk. But then I did just turn 39 and I was celebrating.

I have never... cycled to work for a whole week

Earlier this year I bought a bike. The express intention was to use it to cycle to work and as a result get fit, not spend money on petrol or parking, feel the wind in my hair (when I forget my helmet) and generally to feel smug and happy.

I have ridden my bicycle to work off and on. When I can be bothered, don't have a parcel to pick up, aren't in a hurry and the weather is not inclement. Yes I am that lazy.

During those periods I have encountered horrendous tarmac, pot holes the size of space hoppers, cyclists with a death wish and car drivers who are, for want of a better word, wankers. Not all car drivers of course, but far too many of them.

But never so far have I managed to ride my bike to work and back every day for a week. Today I achieved that feat. I also did it without being knocked off by a six year old (like three weeks ago) or having altercations with other road users. Well I may have shouted a few times and shaken my helmeted head a lot but not too bad I reckon.

So there you have it. I've done something I frankly thought was impossible. Now I'm off to pen a letter to the council about the cycle lanes which end at a wire fences, pot holes, parking violations over cycle paths and dangerous junctions. Which will achieve precisely nothing but you've got to try right?

In short, yay me.

I have never... seen Iron Sphincter. Yes Really.

A text appeared on my phone. My friend assumed that I had never seen a zombie band and asked if I's like to. I put aside the fact that I didn't know what a zombie band was and agreed - well it was tough to say no to. Not only was it due to be a gig in which the band performed as the undead, but the lead singer is the man who runs the bouncy castles at the park.

So what to wear to see a band called Iron Sphincter? I went with black. My zombie costume was at the dry cleaners.

We got there so early that we were the only people in the pink wipe clean PVC clad booth at Plug. Goodness only knows why they have refitted it like that, unless they are trying to compete for Spearmint Rhino's clientel. A couple of pints of crap lager and lots of chatting followed and I my zombie band virgin fears aside.

We watched a band called Das Chip Shop, who were somewhat bizarrely fantastic. I wasn't sure about the song with the miaowing but when the guitarist joined in on barking backing vocals I was sold.

The main act came on and I stood resolutely on the side balcony. This was due to the warning we'd had. There was due to be lots of fake blood. I'm enthusiastic about new things but not stupid. Can you imagine finding your small daughters still awake greeting you on your return home as you dripped with fake blood? It's the stuff of nightmares. It was a shame in retrospect because the blood cannon malfunctioned. There's a sentence I never thought I'd write.

On stage was a cage which I think held the famous pop musician that the zombie band then ate. Their essence was channelled by the zombies playing thrash versions of pop classics. I rather liked Ra Ra Rasputin by Boney M and the Clapping Song was a triumph.

As the zombies played their instruments men in crash helmets kept them in line by looking menacing with baseball bats. I wondered if they pleaded to be in the band despite having no musical ability and were subsequently given a Bez like role to keep them happy. All five of them. It certainly was crowded up there.

Te whole night was a real laugh and musically great, if totally bonkers. I was out with lovely people and chatted to other people I knew, one of whom I hadn't seen for ten years.

At the end my friend pointed out the drummer from Pulp who was clearly enjoying the zombie music. As he was smartly dressed, and the drummer from Pulp, she felt we should warn him about the fake blood. Which then of course didn't happen. He must have thought we were lunatics. On the upside I'd never warned a famous band member about being splashed with fake blood before so it ended up being a  triumphant evening on the new stuff front.

Overall it was a fantastic night with lovely people and oodles of new things to boot. The lesson here is don't turn stuff down thinking it sounds too weird for words. You might have the best night out in ages.

I have never... been on someone else's blind date

One of my best friends in the world texted me. Was I free on Sunday? Did I want to come with him on his blind date at Leeds Festival.

Erm, ok then. But seriously that's quite some blind date. I asked him if he'd not thought a coffee at an independent coffee shop would be a gentler start. Apparently not.

Before we even got into the festival we had to bribe a taxi driver to get us there, then queued for an hour and a half. I told him she better be bleedin worth it.

It's been a good few years since I've been to an unfamily friendly festival. It is safe to safe I felt about a hundred and two. I've never seen so many twenty one year olds in superhero outfits.

Since we were meeting by the waltzers at 6pm we consumed very expensive cocktails from paper cups quite quickly for courage. I felt about as nervous as he was. I mean "hi, I've never met you before but I'm your blind date's oldest female friend". Nothing odd in that is there?

When the lovely lady arrived she clearly had the same idea (safety in numbers) and had brought her brother with her. Of course in my role as supportive friend I let the blind daters get to know each other. Which meant I now know quite a bit about her brother. And him me, that is if he didn't glaze over.

I digress. The afternoon went on happily and remarkably well I thought, which may have been influenced by the cocktails. We watched Bombay Bicycle Club and all was hunky dory until I went to the loo. On returning the brother was nowhere to be seen and my friend and his new date were getting to know each other a little more amorously. Oh bugger. This was an unexpected turn of events.

I tried striding towards them. They didn't notice me and I did a last miute U-turn. I rang my husband and chatted for ten minutes. I strided towards them again, this time coughing. Still no joy. This date was clearly going well. I stood by the sound stack and texted him which seemed to work. Apparently they were just saying hello.

The rest of the day was good fun and I'd had so many cocktails I stopped worrying about being a third wheel. I just threw myself about to the Arctic Monkeys (another first). We went home and sang ballads in the back of a taxi. Who knew we both could sing along to Boyz II Men? I don't think I've ever done that either.

All in all it was a flipping terrific day with a brilliant friend on his blind date. And I've definitely not done that before.

I have never... flown a broomstick

Unsurprisingly I had never flown a broomstick.

We went to Alnwick Castle and somehow I ended up in the broomstick lesson despite the fact that I am nearly 39. Oh well it's never too late to learn I suppose. I'm not sure my technique was as good as Phoebe's.