Sitting Under A Tree

After thirteen days of sobriety and meditation I'm really starting to remember why I hated that Headspace cunt and his dumb voice back in October. I went to ArtVo on Friday after seeing Instagram people posting photos about it, but quickly realised it wasn't meant for 20-somethings on dates, more kids with their parents on school holidays. Still, who needs $28 anyway, eh?

I'm back on the sobriety tip, waking up early as fuck and feeling amazing, and so to counterbalance that positive feeling, I spent four hours yesterday on Instagram stalking influencers and inviting them to my Comedy Festival show. It was brutal. The comments. The chatter. The endless parade of photos, so much light, so much space, so many fit girls' asses. It is honestly maddening.

Fuck I'm so tired. I saw the Gipsy Kings last night at WOMAD, and am currently sitting in Adelaide Airport waiting to get my flight back home to Melbourne. Today the podcast was interrupted by six airport announcements, and four instances of my USB mic unplugging from my laptop. I am not having a good time today.

I sold the other phone! EIGHT-HUNDRED AND EIGHTY DOLLARS YOU FUCKS!!! Suck shit to every cunt who offered me $700, suck shit to everyone who laughed at me and doubted me, and to everyone still trying to sell their second phone that they bought from JB HiFi on eBay, never give up. Dreams come true, you just need to trust in yourself and your vision. Block out the haters. TACO!!!

Wild times at the Adelaide Fringe Festival Club on Sunday night, not least of all because for once the Artist Bar at an Arts Festival is actually fun to hang out at. I'm trying to sell the second Google Pixel 3 I bought on an entrepreneurial whim at the start of the week, and it is not going well. Some cunt offered to trade me for an iPhone 8+!!? What a low-bag piece of shit, I'll kill him.

Kalgoorlie got better, but I'm still convinced that it is absolute trash. Melbourne is great, I'm back home until Thursday, but I hurt my groin playing indoor soccer. Luckily the pathetic vermin who write for the Australian tabloids are always here to take my mind off the pain.

I'm stuck in fucking Kalgoorlie. There's nothing going on here, and I've not seen anyone under 30 for the last 24 hours, but at least we got to look at a really big pit. Last weekend my crowd sang 'Silent Night' as the last audience members took their seats, it was really lovely. Perth Fringe was fucking fantastic.

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!! I'm a little drunk, it's been a great day - lunch, wine, beers, whiskey tour, denim jackets. I've gotten so tanned from being in Perth that on Sunday night some guy didn't believe that I was the person on my flyer. It was infuriating, I wish I'd told him to go fuck himself. Also some guy tried to pull some snake shit over Facebook. I'm 28 motherfuckers!

On Sunday night two girls stole my bag from where I was flyering for my show in Yagan Square, it had all of my notebooks, diary, wallet, jumper, phone charger and headphones in it. It also had my cards that I needed to do the show. The experience really fucked me up for a minute, if I'm honest, although I am feeling a bit better now, so it can't have been that bad. I have a lot of anger about it, and as much as I would like to, I don't forgive them, which is shitty, because I've done some pretty brutal stuff in my life too. Anyway, here's me talking about all that.

Perth is so beautiful, I'm staying in South Fremantle and have been swimming in the ocean every day since I got here - I think it's going to my head. I went off on some self-important tangent about how I should be entitled to a concession card because being an artist is the same as going university. Then I caught myself, and called myself an idiot. Pretty standard, really.

Last night we sat around a backyard fire drinking, listening to music, and eventually, sacrificing my t-shirt to the fire gods. I leave for Perth Fringe World tomorrow morning, and I couldn't be more excited!

Sunday night at a show I spoke to a guy who had come from the UK to get back with his ex. She has bipolar disorder, and so when he got here, she freaked, and kicked him out of the house. Him telling me, and a room full of people at a comedy show that information was a very honest, beautiful moment. In this podcast I succeed in making it about myself.

New Year. Great Party. Also met some annoying English guy the other night who followed us to a bar, everyone was too polite to tell him to fuck off, but I got him to buy me a drink. Should I feel bad? Probably, but I honestly don't. Happy New Year everyone!

I just finished reading 'I Love Dick' by Chris Kraus, which is evidently a hugely popular piece of feminist literature right now. Anyway, I fucking hated it, so I ranted about that for a while, but before my hot take on this exciting piece of the zeitgeist, I spend ages telling a story about a train. Also Dave Campbell comes round to collect his jacket and scares the shit out of me. Merry Christmas!

This week: Likes - English Accents, Rising Sounds, Doings Lots of Gigs. Dislikes - 17 Year-Olds at Parties, DJs at Parties, Apple.

I fucked up yesterday and snapped at a friend, I was upset with my own performance on a show, but hadn't admitted it to myself. I guess I was trying to sweep it aside, because the performance wasn't so bad that I bombed or whatever, but when my friend off-handedly compared me to the other act on the lineup, it really upset me, which forced me to think about why I was upset. How could I have honestly been happy with my performance if all it took to make me freak out was a light-hearted jab? Anyway, I probably think too much.

I don't know why, but I feel a bit of a mess this morning. We put up Christmas decorations last night, and had a few wines. I tell the story of a few various faux pas that I've made in my life, one when I was much younger, and another that was just the other day. I make the same mistakes, but I hope with age, the scale at least decreases.

Great episode to mark one year of the podcast! I talk about the Victorian election, and the privileged it was to witness one of the major figures in Victorian Politics doing drugs on election night. It's insane the level of egomaniac that is drawn to politics in the first place, I mean who names a whole party after themselves? Clive Palmer? Yuck. You're all stupid. Everyone except me.

Melbourne Comedy needs some new traditions, and Blake and I may have just come up with one while sniffing amyl in our kitchen at 4am on Sunday morning. Drinking has been affecting my mood lately, I reckon. It's annoying, I don't know how to say no to people. This week I yell about that a little too.

These woodchip dudes cutting down the tree out the back of our house are wayyyyy too comfortable fucking around with chainsaws. I just ate some bacon that may have been off, and my meditation app fucked up this morning, I shouldn't really be in a good mood, but somehow by the end of this podcast, I am! Mufasa Forever!