STUFF

Here are sum articles wot Bennett roted...



Tales of the Expected

The other day I was driving back from a gig late at night when I saw a strange bright light in the sky. I slowed down and watched it as it hovered in the distance. Suddenly, the lights start flickering on my dashboard. Then my headlights went out. This was followed by the car coming to an abrupt stop. I tried to restart the engine but it was dead. The strange light ahead of me then got brighter and brighter and I realised that what ever it was, was coming closer. I could now see that it was a cigar-shaped object with flashing intermittent lights around its edge. It hovered above me for a few moments before accelerating at great speed and shooting off. The moment it had gone, my car re-started and all the lights came back on. I continued my journey and didn’t see it again.

So what was it? Was it a figment of my imagination caused, perhaps, by tiredness? Was it a new style of aeroplane or helicopter? Or was it, genuinely, an encounter with an extra-terrestrial spacecraft?

In truth, it was none of these things. It was something I just made up.

Let me just explain, for the record, there are no such things as U.F.O.’s.

Just to clarify my views on this; do I believe there’s life on other planets? Yes I do. It would be quite egotistical of us Earthlings to believe we were the only life forms in the whole galaxy. Do I believe that beings from other planets come and visit us? No. That’s ridiculous.

Let’s put it this way, if you were an Alien, would you think; ‘I know I’ll travel half way around the solar system, take a quick butcher’s at Earth and then go home again.’ That’s like driving all the way to your Gran’s house and then going straight home without stopping in to have a cup of tea and a slice of apple strudel

And if Aliens are visiting us (which they’re not) they why do they always do it at night? Surely even your average E.T. knows that it’s easier to see things during the day. And why this planet? What’s so special about us? Are we really the talk of the universe? Do we really look that great? I mean, let’s be honest, from space all you can see of Earth are the Oceans, the Great Wall of China and Vanessa Feltz.

So no, aliens do not come to our planet on day trips (or night trips).

But people believe they do. And there are other things that people believe in. Like psychic ability.

Really, am I the only one who thinks a lot of these Psychics are con artists? I’m not saying all of them - and if you’re a psychic who’s reading this then I obviously don’t mean you (but you probably knew that anyway) – I’m talking abut the ones who do it for publicity.

You know they actually had a psychic on the radio the other day and people could call, text or email and ask them for readings. Readings by text! What are they meant to say; ‘I C gr8 thngs 4 U’.

I promise you this was true, people were actually calling in and asking things like; ‘I can’t find my car keys, have you any idea where they could be?’ And the psychic was, honestly, saying; ‘I can feel their presence….try your coat pocket’.

And then you have the TV ones who go to people’s houses and say things like; ‘Does someone live here?’ or ‘Have you ever noticed, when you leave the window open in the winter, you get a sudden cold feeling?’

And of course there are the ones who perform – and it is a performance – at large venues. These are the ones who ask the audience things like; ‘Does anyone here know someone who’s dead?’ And you see the look of shock and wonderment on people’s faces; ‘He must be talking about Uncle Bob!’

Let’s be honest, a lot of these psychics know they’re not very good at what they do - which is probably why they refer to themselves as Mediums instead of Goods or Excellents – yet they also know how people need, and are willing, to believe.

And then there are those that use Tarot Cards. These are nothing like normal playing cards. In fact I once accidentally took a pack to a Poker evening by mistake. Mind you I did win, I got a Full House – three Lovers and two Deaths, which is a good evening out.

So what should we believe? Is the truth really out there? If so, why doesn’t it come in, after all it’s a bit nippy. Are there aliens amongst us? If so, it would at least explain John McCririck. And do people from the afterlife really come back to talk to us, and if so, why does it have to be via badly dressed Clairvoyants?

Of course, no one knows for sure, but I believe if there really was such a thing as paranormal activity, then it’s unlikely I’d still be able to sit here and write about it, I’d probably be taken…….




That Time Of The Year

So Christmas is almost here. You can tell that as all the shops have started displaying their Easter Eggs

I do enjoy Christmas time; the excitement of finding out which unknown celebrity is going to switch on the town’s lights, which bookies are going to lose the most if it snows on Christmas day and whether the shops you go into will be playing ‘Merry Christmas Everybody’, ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas’ or ‘I Wish it Could Be Christmas Every Day’. By the way, I’ve always thought that playing ‘Do They know it’s Christmas (Feed The World)’ whilst you’re in a supermarket piling up your trolley with a selection of tasty festive treats was a touch insensitive. Not that it ever stops people of course. In fact after hearing the line; ‘The only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears’ I actually heard someone say; ‘Oh that reminds me, I have to buy soda water and bitter lemon.’

Another good thing about Christmas time is that Halloween and Bonfire night are well behind us for another year.

Why we celebrate the Eve of All Hallows in such a huge Americanised way is beyond me. I mean, why should I hand over my hard earned sweets to a group of kids who have simply stuck their heads through a hole in a sheet or put on a Spider Man mask? This year someone actually came to my door dressed as a policeman and told me my cat had been run over. What type of sick joke is that? Admittedly I did give him a Sherbet Dip and a couple of Blackjacks, but only because he was bigger than me.

And Bonfire Night is worse. When I was a child, bonfire night (or if you prefer Guy Fawkes Remembrance Day) was on just one night of the year (November 5th in case you’d forgotten to remember, remember). It usually involved being in the back garden in the cold and rain, eating a jacket potato wrapped in tin foil (well you had to wear something to keep warm) whilst your dad weighed up the pros and cons of returning to the Roman Candle which had failed to ignite. Fantastic fun.

Nowadays Bonfire Night starts two weeks before November 5th and goes on until at least a month after it. During this period, it’s acceptable, almost customary, to have Bangers thrown from passing bicycles and Air Bombs going off all through the night; the noises from which are only interrupted by the intermittent sound of fire engines. What other European country allows kids to buy pyrotechnics from the same shop they buy their comics and crisps?

And what are we really celebrating? We’re celebrating the fact that someone failed in their attempt to blow up Parliament. Would that still be cause for celebration today?

But back to Christmas. My nephew recently asked me if father Christmas was real. To be truthful, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I also didn’t want to spoil his fun and excitement. So I pretended I suffered from vertigo and passed out.

Of course, the Coca Cola sponsored Father Christmas is as much a part of the festive season as drink-driving campaigns and office parties. Unfortunately as I generally work from home, my office is the spare room, and trying to balance as you place your backside on a small combined scanner/fax machine/photocopier is just not the same. Although it did make my secretary laugh. Even though she’s fictitious.

Being a comedian at Christmas time means that you get to perform at various Christmas Bashes. This is when a company decides that, in addition to the lavish spread they are laying on for their staff as a ‘thank you’ for not leaving them for a better job, they should also have a comedian.

Some of these are actually good fun. Most aren’t. On occasions I have been asked to; ‘Do my comedy stuff between the spring rolls and the main course’, ‘Insult the M.D.’ (always a favourite) and ‘Remind everyone that Liz got off with most of the staff last year’. I did actually meet Liz and I can only assume that everyone had had quite a lot to drink that year.

Of course there are people who don’t believe in Christmas and some who just don’t like it at all. There are even people who have a fear of it, which I believe is called Santa Claustrophobia.

And then a week after Christmas is New Year’s Eve. The one night of the year when we force ourselves to have a good time and when at midnight we will kiss anyone in a ten yard radius and then stand in a circle, arms linked with smelly sweaty strangers and sing the first few words to Auld Lang Syne and then, like John Redwood, make up the rest of them.

Anyway, I have to go now and start wrapping my presents. I’ve bought a new collar for my cat. Talking of which, I haven’t seen her for a while…




The Happiest Days!?

I didn’t like school.

There, I’ve said it.

I remember telling my parents when I was about eight or nine, that the thought of spending seven hours a day for the next ten years being dressed in grey and trudging from one mind-numbing class to the next, was really depressing. Unsurprisingly - although I believe I put forward a particularly strong case - neither of them said; ‘You know, you’re quite right. Here are some comics and Atari games, go get yourself a Nesquik and put your feet up.’

I didn’t like any of the subjects at school. I remember in one class we had to dissect a frog and remove all its innards. Although I didn’t really mind doing that, I did think it was an odd way to start an English lesson.

Our English teacher was actually one of the worsterest. I really don’t think I learned nothing from him. As it so happens he also took us for games, which meant he gave us essay titles like; 'The Olympic event of throwing a round, flat metal object - discuss.'

And I remember our maths teacher, Miss Williams. He was an odd bloke. He used to set us questions like; 'If it takes 3 men, 5 hours to dig a hole 2 feet deep….how come our council tax is so high?'

And I hated sitting exams. That fear has stayed with me to this day. I recently had an eye exam and got 74%. Which was a ‘B’. Which ironically was one of the letters I couldn’t read on the chart.

I found the whole revising thing impossible. People used to say; ‘You can’t study everything, but of course the one bit you don’t study will be the bit that comes up’. Then what’s the point?

Geography was my worst subject. I mean, why did there always have to be a fallow field? I didn’t even sit my geography exam - mainly because I couldn’t find the room where it was being taken.

I don’t think I liked history, although to be truthful I can’t really remember.

And I couldn’t stand physics. All that stuff about energy and inertia. I couldn’t be bothered with that.

Religious Studies was quite interesting. I still remember one of the exam questions;

Match the Biblical Character to the quote;
1) Better get the washing in love.
2) You always think it’s me, don’t you!
3) Just a little bit off the fringe and sideburns, but keep the length.
4) Don’t turn….damn! Still, that should help with the slug problem.

Answers:
Lot, Judah, Noah, Samson.

Because I make my living as a comedian people always ask me if I used humour to avoid being bullied. Well unfortunately it didn’t quite work like that. If you’re being held upside down in a toilet bowl, there’s no point trying to say; ‘So, how many of you are from out of town?’

And I’m often asked if I was the Class Clown. Well I wasn’t. Although I did write all his material.

Six months ago I met up with a boy who used to bully me. I’d contacted him through ‘Bullies Reunited’. We had a coffee together and chatted about our school days. He apologised for everything he’d done and I of course forgave him. After all, we were only kids at the time. He then excused himself and went to the toilet. When he’d gone I poured salt into his coffee, turned his jacket inside out, squeezed tomato ketchup into the pockets and then, after shaking his wife’s hand and saying it had been a pleasure to meet her, I ran out.

Although I had been bullied a little bit in school, there was one boy who was picked on all the time. This was because he’d been ‘outed’. Yes, it had been discovered that he preferred football to rugby. He was made to walk around the school playground wearing a sign that read; 'Real Welshmen love rugby, I love soccer.' We had a tough headmaster, but a patriotic one.

My best friend in school was Martin Jenkins. He was in 3D. Which was nice as most of the other boys were only two-dimensional. Martin was the one who introduced me to smoking, drinking and gambling. His dad was the Vice-Principal so I suppose that’s where Martin got his knowledge.

Martin used to run a casino from a tent in his back garden. Entrance was a packet of sherbet dip or two tip tops, and that entitled you to as much Tab or Fresca as you wanted which was never very much as there were no toilets in the tent, apart from a little hole that you could push your willy through to wee outside. I used to enjoy doing that. Martin used to like me to go around to his house to play games. I always thought it was a bit odd, just the two of us, in his attic, playing 'Kiss Chase'. Still, he was the one with the cans of Shandy Bass so it was all give and take.

Oh and before I finish I just want to clarify one thing about bullies. They say that bullies are really cowards and that if you stand up to them, they run away. Well no they don't. What they do is punch you until you pass out. Happy days.




Driven to Distraction

As I write this article, I am waiting for my car to have its MOT. It’s like waiting for my A Level results. I keep thinking I should have worked a bit harder for it. I hardly prepared at all; I didn’t clean the car, check the oil, put water in the washers etc. And I just know one of those things will come up in the test.

I’ll be honest with you, I really don’t know very much about cars. I remember my car wouldn’t start one day so I opened the bonnet to have a look. That’s when I realised… I had no idea what I was looking for. I mean, what was I expecting to find? A sign which said; “In event of non-starting press here.”

I hate taking my car to the garage. I always end up saying stupid things like; “There’s a strange eeek eeek sound when I turn the big wheel” or “There’s a loud banging every time I press the go-faster pedal.”

And just to show you how little I know about cars, this is the conversation I had when I brought my car in this morning.

Me: Hello, I’ve booked my car in for a service and MOT.
Mechanic: Right, what’s the name?”
Me: It doesn’t have a name. Although I called my last car Trevor.
Mechanic: No I meant your name.
Me: Oh. It’s Arron.
Mechanic: Right. What’s the registration number?
Me: Er… it’s L…or F… or something…
Mechanic: Right. Anyway, we’re just going to do a regular service. We’re going to change the oil…
Me: For what?
Mechanic: Sorry?
Me: What are you going to change the oil for? What will I now be having instead of oil?
Mechanic: No Mr Arron, you’ll still have oil. We’re just going to change your old oil for new oil.
Me: Oh. Right.

Of course there’s no proof that they will change my old oil for new oil. They could just take out my old oil, wash it and put it back in.


I do buy things for my car occasionally, I don’t mean Bumper Stickers with things like; “My other car is also crap.” I mean things like a Satellite Navigation System. I’m actually very pleased with it, and not just because it gives me someone to talk to on long journeys. There’s nothing more satisfying than the words; “You have reached your destination.” Although to be honest most of the time I hear; “Turn around where possible.”

The only problem with my SAT NAV is that I have quite chubby fingers and invariably put in the wrong post code. Last week I was doing a gig in Huddersfield and instead of typing in the postcode HD5 9N1 I accidentally typed in H5N1 - which is the scientific name of the Bird Flu Virus. I did eventually get to the gig, ironically the route I used was as the Crow flies.

I’ve had quite a few different cars over the years. I’m not of these people who changes their car regularly, I usually wait until they can’t get to the garage for the MOT before replacing them. When I took my previous car, Trevor, to the garage the mechanic took one look at it and said; “If this were a horse it would have to be put down.”

Whenever I’ve had to buy a new car, like most people I look through the used car ads. But I never really know what I’m looking for; low mileage? Low petrol? Low ceiling? I have to say that some of the ads are quite funny. For example I saw one that said “Only 1 careful lady owner, but 5 really careless ones.” And another one which was selling a Renault Clio referred to it as “The hatchback of Notre Dame.”

I was driving along the motorway recently and I had a puncture – well the car did obviously, I don’t mean I ate too much. Anyway, I attempted to change the wheel myself. Pointless. So I ended up having to call a breakdown service. I think breakdown is absolutely the right word as when you’re stuck on a motorway miles from home that’s what you feel like doing. Still, if you do emotionally break down, at least you have a hard shoulder to cry on.

Talking of changing tyres, apparently a Formula 1 crew can take the wheels off a car in under 10 seconds. This sounds impressive until you’ve been to Newport on a Saturday night.


Anyway, I am now back home now. I’m delighted to say that my car has passed. I’m so proud of it!

The service cost quite a bit mind. And then they tried to con me with something at the end. I was just about to leave the garage when the mechanic suddenly mentioned that my brake fluid was a bit low. He suggested I waited whilst they topped it up. I smiled and told him not to worry. I’m not falling for that one. Brake Fluid! As if that’s a real thing!