Kevin Bridges: The Story So Far - Live in Glasgow Page #3

"There's a party at Chad

Hogan's mom and dad's?" "Yeah."

"Whoo! Spring break! Yeah!"

"Chad Hogan's parties

are awesome, man. Whoo!"

Then it shows you

Chad Hogan's party.

Chad Hogan's booked a

band for his living room.

"Great party, Chad. Whoo! Yeah!

"Let's go get some

dip and chip. Whoo!"

Everybody's nodding to the music

with these plastic cups of beer.

But nobody knows who brought them.

They just go, "Whoo! Yeah! Whoo!"

That's not the kind of parties we

had. We never had that kind of parties.

We never had spring break,

we had the Easter holidays.

When I was growing up, it was

called "an empty". An empty.

It derives from, 'We've

got an empty house."

"We've got an empty."

The house is empty.

It's an empty.

I mean, you never

had, "Spring break!"

or Chad Hogan or

bands at an empty.

An empty was a far

more tense affair.

Somebody's furious cousin

would disrupt the ambience

by announcing that

he'd popped his 12 cans.

"Drank two, gave one away,

"but there's only seven left."

"Turn that down! We've got a can

thief. F***ing turn that down!"

Somebody else in the corner

just trying on people's jackets.

"Think this one suits me?"

Not even asking, "Does it

fit me?" "Does it suit me?"

I mean, the guy's a petty criminal,

you need to look your best, don't you?

The same guy that's leaving the house at

the end of the night holding a microwave.

"I think you'll find I

brought this with me."

"And I do not care

for the accusation.

"I mean, why would

I steal a microwave?"

A 35-year-old guy that

nobody knew in the corner.

Smoking dope and blowing

into your Labrador's face.

An intelligent dog as well,

and it's sitting there frazzled.

An empty.

Good times in an empty.

I seen a headline

about a mental party.

It was obviously a tragic

event, but it was pretty funny.

A headline that said, "Woman drugged,

beaten, tied up, and left for dead

"at neighbour's party."

Surely that can no longer

be referred to as a party.

I have been in attendance

at some pretty wild gaffs,

but when a woman has been

drugged, beaten, tied up...

"I better get a taxi, huh?"

That's the cue to stop

dishing out nibbles.

Well, a lot of violent crime

- that's been in the news quite a lot.

A lot of violent crime,

knife crime, gun crime, stuff.

I don't know what the solution is.

There's calls for the tougher sentences.

I think we need more

consistent sentences.

For example, the crime attempted murder, that

carries a six or seven-year jail sentence,

whereas murder carries a life sentence.

Now, why should that be different?

You still tried it.

Attempted. You tried

to kill somebody.

You weren't very good at it.

That was by no means your forte.

And I don't think you

should get a lesser sentence.

Ln my opinion, you should get double

the sentence for making an arse of it.

And they get police officers

to travel round schools

to give talks to kids

about knife crime.

At the end of the talks,

they give the kids a sticker

that says "Dennis the

Menace" or something.

Something like, "Dennis the

Menace says no to knives."

Now, I don't mean

to be cynical here,

but if you wore a "Dennis the Menace

says no to knives" sticker at school,

there's a good chance

you'd get stabbed.

I think a start would be to close

the shops that sell violent weapons.

You know you get these

sports shops that sell

crossbows to alcoholics,

you know these places?

And sport shops that sell

3,000 baseball bats every year

but have never sold a baseball.

"They're the Easterhouse Red Sox. They've

not had a game in a while, but we're still...

"We're still selling

them equipment.

"They must have a pretty hectic

pre-season schedule booked."

I was in one of these places,

doing a bit of research,

and the only security measure,

if you wanted to buy something that

could be construed as a violent weapon,

is you need to fill in a form

leaving your name and address

so if anything happens, you can

be easily traced for questioning.

Now, that's the theory.

What self-respecting nutcase,

buying a weapon with a view

to committing a heinous felony,

would leave their

real name and address?

I picture some police investigation

team going through the book.

They say, "Excuse me. Shop owner.

"Says here you

sold a samurai sword

"to Bert and Ernie

"from 24, Sesame Street."

And some new-guy cop,

they've maybe sent him on a

wild-goose chase somewhere,

Sesame Street not

showing up on the SatNav.

Sliding down the

window for directions,

going, "Excuse me.

Excuse me, mate.

"Sorry. Excuse me, excuse

me. Can you tell me...

"how to get...

"How to get to Sesame... That's

a f***in' wind-up, innit?"

I used to watch a programme

called Get Your Own Back.

Big show in the '90s.

I'll explain the premise of the show

to the more mature audience members.

It was hosted by a guy

called Dave Benson Phillips.

Big Dave, as you can see,

a fanny magnet, right?

Dave Benson Phillips.

In the show they'd

get these kids on

who wanted to get their own back

on a family member who had

done something to annoy them.

And it was always like, you

know, they'd tell the story

about what their

family member had done.

Then they'd bring on the family

member and everybody would boo.

It was normally a guy, and

they'd boo. They'd go "Boo!"

"How could you do that? Boo!"

Then they would gunge the guy.

Cover him in gunge and go,

"Boo! Serves you right."

"That's what you

get. Gunged. Boo!"

And that was that. Revenge.

Revenge had been hard. Revenge.

It was always really,

really shite stories.

Like, "I'm here to get

my own back on my daddy.

"'Cause we were in

the car and he farted.

"And it was

absolutely disgusting.

"And he wouldn't

put down the window."

I used to watch this every day.

Just one day somehow hoping for

something a bit more hard-hitting.

"I'm here to get my own

back on my Uncle Ronnie

"'cause he's a paedo."

And everybody's going, "Boo!"

"Gunge that paedo."

"Gunge that beast."

When's the last time you turned

on the TV and seen a paedo-gunging?

Everybody had a dodgy

uncle or a dodgy teacher.

We'd a maths teacher, a bit dodgy,

bit of a pervert maths teacher.

You know, you'd

forget your calculator,

he'd make you do the class

in your vest and pants.

Your favourite subject at school?

- PE.

- PE? Same here, man.

I was always the fat guy

that brought in a note.

"Please excuse Kevin from volleyball.

He's f***ed off to the chip van."

That's what PE stood for,

for me. "Please Excuse."

My favourite subject was

woodwork. And as we know...

Woodwork. Everybody's woodwork

teacher was a functioning alcoholic.

We'd a woodwork teacher.

His name was Mr Brundle.

So we'd come in in the mornings and

we'd shout, "Let's get ready to Brundle."

And everybody else in the class was

ready to Brundle except this guy.

He was f***ed.

His Brundleing days were over.

He'd just be sitting at his desk,

about 25 minutes into the

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