On MACBETH, Jimmy Carr and impulsivity

and a Jimmy and Ricky anniversary date

Oh my, dear reader, I’ve been impulsive.

It’s February. I work seasonally now. Things are tight.

And?

And when the tickets to Jimmy Carr in Halifax in November popped up there was NO WAY I was missing out.

NO WAY.

Sell the house, I’m going to see Jimmy.

And ya see, dear reader, this Jimmy, loves that Jimmy.

His book?

My god, I wish I wrote his book about the creative process and taking risks and living a creative life.

He’s funny. Cutting.

And he’s really quite wise.

I’ve been addicted to his ‘crowd work’ videos on YouBoob - so much so that I’ve already prepared a few ‘heckles’ for him to either use as prompts or for him to ridicule me. It doesn’t matte what happens, I just want to see myself in one his YouTube videos.

That, my dear reader, is a low goal to have.

And?

That is my creative goal for 2026.

I want my ‘shouted out comment’ at a Jimmy Carr show to make it to a Youtube video.

Ambitious?

I know.

It was either that or rename the Kennedy Centre after me.

But the comment that I’ve currently settled on is thus:

Talk about Macbeth’s last monologue ya posh twat!

Macbeth’s final monologue is Laura’s favourite. Most see it as tragic.

For her?

Liberating.

Nothing lasts.

Nothing is important.

You will not be remembered.

You are free.

And that is something that I see glowing through Jimmy’s work.

The show is in November so please forgive me if I change my mind about that incredible heckle six hundred and forty three times.

Yes, I’m being that specific to amplify the absurdity.

And actually?

This wasn’t really that impulsive.

I didn’t know that Jimmy was coming to Halifax until…

Until I got a text from Ricky.

Jimmy Carr’s coming in November. Wanna go?

How could I say no?

It would be pretty much a year to the day that I first hopped into Ricky’s big metal deliver van where we slung packages for a global logistics company.

Neither of us would return to that job so it seems.

Yeah, I’m going to go work at the prison.

I couldn’t have been more stunned had you wamped me upside the head with a seven pound lobster humpin’ a three pound turnip.

You’re going to be a prison guard? You’re going to go from this to a prison?

Ricky shook his head.

It was a text message, but I could tell by the way those three little dots move that he was TOTALLY shaking his head.

We’re all in prison bud, I’m just getting closer to the warden.

So if this years goal was to get heckled by Jimmy,

What do you imagine next year will bring?

Two words:

Street Mime.

And the goal?

Escape the imaginary box of my own making.

Or at least fart on the bars a bit.

Stay free, your fools!