Tag Archives: Sex Tourist

Chris Dangerfield, political correctness in comedy and recurring fishnet tights

Fishnet stockings (not tights)

Fishnet stockings – not tights. (Photograph by RJFerret)

Chris Dangerfield in Dean Street, Soho

Chris with shopping bag in Soho

When I met performer Chris Dangerfield in London’s Soho last week, he wanted to talk about how political correctness has gone mad and I wanted to talk about fishnet tights.

“I thought you were leaving the country,” I said.

“I did plan to go travelling for a couple of years,” he told me, “maybe forever. But my problem, John, is connection and going travelling is almost giving up connecting with people and having nothing permanent. I would just be a wanderer and get old and end up one of those blokes on a beach in Thailand with no hair.”

“That seems to be what I’ve done,” I said, “except for the beach.”

“This is the concern,” Chris said, “ending up like you. But business is going so well that, if I commit to work for the next couple of years, I’ll probably be able to retire well.

“This,” I asked, “is your lock-picking business?”

“Yeah. I just got a warehouse in America and we’re thinking of maybe doing something in Hong Kong. But what I wanna talk to you about is Gazza and his joke.”

We then talked about various subjects.

“I can’t post that,” I said. “It is not going to read well in print. It will make you look bad.”

“What?” asked Chris. “As in ‘bad’ not interesting or ‘bad’ meaning I look like a cunt?

“Yes,” I said. “I…”

Glasgow Police being uncharacteristically sensitive on Twitter

Glasgow Police being uncharacteristically sensitive on Twitter

“I don’t care,” he told me. “Put it all in. I’m done with caring about all that bullshit. The Glasgow police have got a Twitter account and they Tweeted – This is 100% true – They Tweeted We may pay you a visit if you Tweet anything illegal – that’s fair enough – unnecessary and unkind. The police Tweeted this! We may pay you a visit if you Tweet anything unnecessary and unkind. This is actually happening! It’s absurd!

“The Canadian comedian Mike Ward made a joke about some spastic kid and was fined $42,000. It’s bullshit. What is happening not just to comedy but to the world?… How was the Edinburgh Fringe this year? You’ve watched it go downhill for the last 16 years. Be honest now. It’s shit, isn’t it?”

“I don’t really see that much difference,” I replied. “You were supposed to be coming up for a few days this year. I was looking forward to that.”

“I thought about visiting for a few days,” Chris explained, “but I’ve just got too much work on. Hardeep sorted out a room for me with another friend, but her Facebook had fishnets and I thought: Oh shit!

“Fishnets?” I asked.

“Not Hardeep. His friend. I thought: I’ll be sitting in a room working and then only going out for a couple of hours. So I didn’t get up there. I’m thinking of doing a show next year.”

“Fishnet tights?” I asked.

“No, stockings,” Chris replied. “Stockings. No-one wears tights any more in my bedroom. I can’t be doing with them. They remind me of my mother. I would find my mum’s tights with her knickers rolled up in them at the bottom of the stairs. Eugh! Dark tan. Not black, not white, not pink, nothing sexy. But, nonetheless, if a woman arrives in my bed with tights on, they have to be removed. That’s a game changer as much as no hair on a woman.

“Where were we? My Edinburgh show maybe next year. I’ve been quite outspoken about the political correctness movement that is gaining so much power at the moment and I’ve lost a lot of friends through that. And some of them were my media contacts that I’d spent eight years building up. And they’ve become arsehole virtue social justice warriors. Really. A lot of them have gone. All just disappeared from my Contacts list.”

“So will you do a show next year?” I asked.

Rare sight - shy Copstick - at Mama Biashara

Kate Copstick might be involved with Chris

Copstick said to me: For fuck’s sake do a show up here – which was very nice of her. I said: If I do, I’ll need your help and she said something along the lines of Alright. You interrupted her on the Grouchy Club Podcast. She was about to market me as part of the… But you interrupted, mumbling something about biscuits…”

“Well,” I said, “that’s my role.””

“Let’s get back,” Chris insisted, “to political correctness being poison.”

“Net stockings?” I tried.

“I think this is going to snowball,” Chris persisted. “People are taken to court for really shitty jokes that are not racist, that are not harassment. It’s happening. There are lots of examples. There’s Guy Earle in Canada. A load of people heckled him. They introduced themselves into his show. They were the vampires at his door. He welcomed them in. He shouted back at them and they took him to court and won. This is madness.

“When I read the Top Ten Jokes in Edinburgh, they are lollystick jokes aren’t they? They are good for families. But that’s nothing to do with me. And that’s alright. I don’t expect it to all be about me. Far from it. But that’s what gets the Awards. Lollystick acts. The awards have the odd inoculation – a small amount of acknowledged evil that will make them feel better. It works like an inoculation. They take on a few people who are a bit risky to protect themselves against the generalised evil and generalised subversion.”

“You realise,” I asked, “that this blog is going to have nothing in it about political correctness – just fishnet tights?”

“Stockings!” said Chris. “The other thing, of course, is I’ve just finished writing a novel. The story is there. But it’s not long enough and it needs a lot of work on it.”

“That’” I told him, “is what women constantly say to me.”

“It needs as much editing as you do,” said Chris, “which is a helluva lot. At the moment it’s 58,000 words; I’m aiming for around 75,000. The book is the story of a man who goes to Thailand to get clean (of drugs) and gets a lot less than he bargained for.”

Chris Dangerfield in Thailand yesterday morning

Chris Dangerfield had some laughs  in Thailand

“Does he,” I asked, “try to kick his heroin addiction in a brothel?”

“Yes.”

“That always seemed a very bad idea,” I told Chris. “Doing it for real.”

Chris told me: “I set out to write it thinking it was about a man getting clean in a brothel. But it isn’t. It’s about childhood, nostalgia and connection. When you set out… When you define your enclosure and say It’s about this and contrive something, it doesn’t work. It’s not creative.”

“So,” I asked, “it has ended up being about the man and how he got to be who he is?”

“Yeah. To an extent. Or how he didn’t become what he should be. I think it’s one of the best things I’ve done. It would be really nice if I got it published before next August and I would do a reading (at the Edinburgh Fringe). Then I can present it as fiction and avoid a lot of trouble.”

“How can you present it as fiction?” I asked.

“Well,” said Chris, “I mean, some of it’s fictional; it just has to be.”

“The more unbelievable something seems,” I suggested, “very often the more true it is. You have to tone down reality to make it believable.”

Coming soon – the last ever performance of his 2012 show

Chris had to downplay the actual reality to make it believable

“Absolutely,” said Chris. “That’s what happened with (Edinburgh Fringe show) Sex Tourist. I had to play it down. That was totally insane. I bought a gun. They’re plastic.

“When I finally came out of that methamphetamine binge, I took the gun back to the shop and said: Mate, I’m done with the gun. I really don’t need it.

“And he was all No, no, no. You can take it back to England and he took it all to pieces and said I’ll send it back to you in parts. I asked What do I do for bullets? and he said I can send you them as well.”

“Not plastic bullets?” I asked.

“No. Do you know blank keys are made out of spent bullet shells? They use a lot of bullets in practising and they collect them all, melt them all down and make keys in America.”

“Have you written a novel before?” I asked.

“I had one vanity publishing thing in my early 20s – Tired etc. It done quite well, got some good reviews, was in i-D, Loaded.”

“What’s the new one called?”

“A friend suggested Last Exit To Patong… You know, John, I don’t think you’re going to have a coherent blog here.”

“It’s never worried me before.”

“What? When I was smoking crack in Brown’s? Do you remember? I had to run to the chemist. I read that blog back and thought: Who is this? I was reading it, really excited, wondering: Oh shit! What happens next? And it was me.

“Tights,” I said.

“They’re horrible things,” Chris replied.

“Fishnet tights?” I asked.

“There’s nothing wrong with them. There’s nothing wrong with anything. Nothing’s good; nothing’s bad. But I have a relationship with them that I don’t want to re-live with a sexual partner… Look, when I’m coming down my stairs as a toddler on my hands and knees, at the bottom, I end up with my face in my mum’s gusset. That’s a phrase I never wanted to say. I can’t stand them. They’re a proper party-killer. Tight round the waist, gonna leave a mark and there’s a thread and a seam that goes round the fanny.”

“You know,” I said, “when you realise you shouldn’t have said something?”

“No,” said Chris. “No, I haven’t got to that stage yet.”

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Filed under Bad taste, Comedy, Drugs, political correctness, Sex

Chris Dangerfield says he has some Will Self help for Fringe Sex With Children

Chris Dangerfield talked via Skype yesterday

Chris Dangerfield via Skype yesterday

In yesterday’s blog, comedian Chris Dangerfield – currently in Thailand trying to kick heroin addiction – talked about his disinterest in himself and in performing. He told me it’s all ego and ambition. He also told me the title of his planned Edinburgh Fringe solo show this August.

Sex With Children,” he said. “It’s a good story, man. It’s a good story.”

There was a pause.

“I was fucked loads of times. There’s some good stories where I go round and try to get a bit of revenge. I take this pit bull terrier round to some magician’s house, but the thing turns round and shits itself when there’s a bit of chaos. I’d been lively on this bloke with a house brick and the fucking pit bull turns round and shits on his doorstep. It’s an alright show. I’m trying to say we’re all paedophiles.”

“You might be wrong there,” I suggested, “but at least you’re trying to make a statement to make people think and that’s a good thing. You told me you’d written novels but never published them. How many have you written? Three?”

“No, loads more than that. The last three were about coming to Thailand and trying to get off smack. I’ve been here three times to do this.”

“So why haven’t…” I started to say.

“Because I’ve been busy jacking heroin,” interrupted Chris. “This is the problem. This is the only problem. It’s very difficult to do anything else when you’re doing that. I can work, cos I need the money for the smack, but I can’t be arsed doing much else.

“Weirdly, having said that, I’ve done a bit of TV work this year. I’m on Channel 4 in a couple of weeks time with Rupert Everett and Russell Brand. Russell’s a cock but Rupert’s a great man, he really is. I read his autobiography and realised he’s a very, very intelligent man.”

“So are you,” I said. “So why do you not want to do more creative things?”

 Chris says this is a picture “of me just holing my works in my mouth as my hands gave up"

Chris last month was, he says, “just holing my works in my mouth as my hands gave up”

“I do,” said Chris. “But life is a problem, John. I was thinking of jumping off the balcony five days ago. I just feel that I’ve been doing what I’m doing right now… I’ve been doing this – On-Off On-Off On-Off – for 25 years.”

“That’s the fault of being on heroin,” I suggested, “not the fault of not being on heroin.”

“It’s not the fault of the fucking heroin!” said Chris. “You think it walks up the stairs and jumps in my arm? I’ll be honest with you. I reckon I’m a pretty good comic and a pretty good writer and I reckon, if I had a few years clean, I could probably make a nice living out of it. But I am honestly – and I mean honestly – weighing that up with just fucking off to Laos, getting myself a little hut somewhere and just… That’s it over. Finished. Just on the gear.”

“Look,” I said, “you’re a highly creative person. You should do something with your novels. If you write a novel and don’t publish it, there’s no point in doing it because you’re not communicating anything. You’re just wanking off.”

“You want me to wank it into people’s faces?” Chris asked. “Is that what you’re saying? You mean There’s no point losing it on the duvet when there’s mouths open all round the world,” said Chris.

“You are a man with a good turn of phrase,” I said, “but the smack is stopping you doing creative things. It’s not helping you. It’s stopping you.”

“But sometimes it feels like such a relief,” said Chris. “It also calms the penis. I’m not fucking, I’m not thinking about sex all the time, I’m not worrying about my poxy career. It’s a nice rest. Because, when I’m off the heroin, it’s all about Do something! Make Something happen! Get a fuck! Make something happen! Get a fuck! When I’m on it, it’s a nice rest. I don’t want sex, I don’t want to do anything.”

“Well,” I said, “I always tell comedians, if they want to do a 60-minute show, they should figure out what they’re angry about and shape the show round that. What are you angry about?”

Chris Dangerfield’s 2014 Edinburgh Fringe show

Chris’ image for his 2014 Edinburgh Fringe stand-up show

“How long have you got?” laughed Chris. “This Sex With Children show is pretty angry. I mean, I really did not appreciate being bummed when I was seven eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve years old. That was pretty unpleasant. All my friends who’ve died on drugs because they were raped as kids. That’s kind of unpleasant. That’s what the show’s about.

“The point of the show is we don’t talk about this shit. There’s no place for it. We live in a paedophile culture. We fuck our kids. We’ve got laws against it. You don’t have laws against painting yourself blue because no-one does it. We do have laws against fucking kids, because everyone’s at it.

“It started off with incest. Don’t fuck your own kids. They made it illegal. So everyone starts fucking everyone else’s kids. And it’s not talked about. Incest and child abuse comes from the family. The family comes from the creation of capital. I don’t want two people’s opinions. I want a community. We live in little rooms of two people full of vodka. Why do we have two people look after us?”

“Well,” I said, “two people look after you because two people created you.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Chris said, his voice rising. “That ain’t how it works! That shouldn’t be how it works! You should have a community looking after you. Two people is not enough. The family unit is a disgrace. It’s a violent little situation that creates hatred and Oedipal hell. It’s a horrible thing.”

“The family unit exists,” I suggested, “because they’re all related by blood.”

“Not it’s not,” said Chris. “The family exists to create workers. Viva la Communista!”

“Anyway,” I said, “this is getting off the subject of you actually doing something about your life. It sounds to me that your Edinburgh Fringe show is exactly what you should be doing – getting that anger out of you and making other people think, even if they don’t agree with you.”

“I’ll be carrying a pair of brass knuckles on stage, though,” said Chris. “I’ve already bought them.”

“When are you back in Britain?”

“Probably 4th or 5th of May.”

“Then you’ll have to think full-time about Edinburgh,” I said.

“Well, I got Will Self on the firm, haven’t I?” said Chris.

“Do I mention this?” I asked.

Will Self had words on yoghurts

Will Self advised on consumer choices, lady boys  & yoghurts

“Yeah, you can now,” said Chris. “He came to see me and wrote me a cracking review and he told me if I wanted a bit of help developing the material… He said he thinks I’m fantastic but that I perform better than my material. He said fucking and having a fight with a lady boy was just another consumer choice; I might as well be talking about yoghurts. It’s a good point. But that show – Sex Tourist – was three years old when he saw it.

“He said: I’m only going to help you if you get clean, because a using addict is useless.”

“So Will Self would help you with the writing?” I asked.

“Yeah. He said he’d help me develop my material.”

“And have you started doing that yet?”

“No. I’m only twelve days clean… I told him I was clean and living in a brothel in Thailand and he said: Good luck!

“Indeed,” I said.

“Listen,” said Chris, “I’ve kinda run out of energy now. I’m going to go upstairs and have some Xanax.”

“What’s Xanax?” I asked.

“It’s a short-acting benzo. It’s a brand name for alprazolam. But, if you really want to know, you can add that to the diazepam, the intravenous Valium… It’s a bit benzo-heavy at the moment.”

“So you’ve stopped taking drugs, then?” I laughed.

“Tablets aren’t drugs,” replied Chris. “They’re medicine. Listen, when you ain’t slept for nine days, you’ve got pins-an-needles all over your body. You can’t walk five metres without your legs caving in. My injecting site is through my groin. I’ve got no veins left anywhere else, so I have to go in that femoral one which is like a hose pipe.

Chris Dangerfield in Thailand yesterday morning

Chris laughed in Thailand yesterday morning

“When I got here, I wasn’t looking at getting clean and I kept buying any old shit and I was banging stuff in there. My calf muscles solidified and I went to the hospital and they said: You’re probably going to lose your legs. If you carry on like this, they’re off! And I quite like my legs.

“Now I can only walk about ten metres before I fall over and shit myself. So I need to go upstairs and lay down for a minute now. This is the longest I’ve spoken to anyone in about a week.”

“Well,” I said. “Keep clean, keep your legs, be creative and come back to work with Will Self.”

Chris laughed.

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Comedian Chris Dangerfield: addicted to drugs… and a story about a corpse

(This piece was also published by India’s We Speak News)

Chris Dangerfield: addicted to drugs and strong stories

Comedian Chris Dangerfield is performing his show Sex Tourist in Swansea tonight.

In yesterday’s blog, he was talking to me over tea and scones at Browns in St Martin’s Lane about a self-inflicted comedy gig from Hell.

His last words were “So, you know about my well-documented drug habit…”

This is what he said next…

_____________________________________________________________________

“Just before the Edinburgh Fringe this year, I done my back in and they put me on Valium, because it’s a muscle relaxant. Not a good thing to go on. I used to eat 50 of those a day. I should leave all drugs alone. Towards the end of Edinburgh, I realised I was taking Valium for recreational use, not for my back which was absolutely fine. That progressed and carried on into codeine, DF 118, codeine phosphate.

“I’m a drug addict. I get into terrible trouble with drugs and obviously there comes a point where the doctor will not give me the drugs in the quantities I want, so then I have to go on the black market.

“I’m going to a detox centre this weekend because now I can’t sort this out on my own any more. So I’m in real trouble. It’s a very dangerous place for me to be because, if I don’t get it sorted out, I end up sticking needles up my arse because you’ve got capillaries up there and, if you run out of veins like I have, you snap the needle off and you stick the syringe into your anus and the capillaries in your anus will absorb the heroin.

“A well-known television celebrity rang me up the other night with his gun, saying I’m going to kill myself, Chris.”

“With his gun?” I asked, surprised.

“Well, obviously,” said Chris, “he didn’t use his gun to phone me up. That would have been extraordinary. He used a telephone. But he came round my house and I nursed him. Now, me nursing him while I’m out of my head on codeine and Valium and he’s also in real trouble with drugs – it was the most ridiculous night of my life.”

“Was it?” I asked.

“Well, no it wasn’t,” admitted Chris. “Nowhere near, actually… It doesn’t come close… But, since I got clean…

“Suddenly I was right back in all the madness. This is happening again! Since I’ve been having to buy black market drugs, I’ve also been having black market people back in my life again, throwing stones at my window in the middle of the night to get money from me because they want stuff.

“So I know all these insane people again and they want to borrow my phone because they’ve got no credit left. I was standing in Old Compton Street this afternoon and there’s this 24 year old boy standing next to me arranging a load of Valium and Xanax for me – it’s another benzodiazepine, a very strong one.

“He collapses into the road with my phone which skates across Old Compton Street. I have to pick him up and pretend I’m a stranger because, otherwise, I’m blatantly scoring. Though I don’t care who knows that except for the police. And then, when I get my phone back, this other bloke phones me up: I’m going to kill myself again! You gotta help me! I didn’t bury the gun!”

“This is the well-known TV celebrity?” I asked.

“No, this is someone else,” said Chris.

Bury the gun?” I asked.

“I’d told him You need to get rid of that gun.”

“How had he got the gun?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Chris. “You buy them off people, don’t you? It was a 9mm Beretta. So all this is going on and I’m thinking about coming to talk to you.”

“What was the man with the Beretta doing?” I asked.

“He was worried that he was going to kill himself or someone else – and that’s why this other bloke is on the floor, smashed out of his head on Xanax, trying to get me Xanax on Old Compton Street. So that’s been my day. So if I’m a little bit… confused… that’s… My! But aren’t those scones lovely? Look at that clotted cream!”

“So what about your gig in Swansea this week?” I asked.

“A man I met in a rehab centre years ago,” explained Chris. “Richard Griffiths…”

Richard Griffiths?” I asked.

“No,” said Chris. “Not that one. Another Richard Griffiths – he’s hilarious, but he’s too scared to do stand-up… He’s created a fan base… Aren’t these scones just amazing? Did you have some of the clotted cream?”

“Yes,” I said. “It was amazing.”

“You didn’t under-do it, did you?” Chris asked me. “Because your doctor told you to?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever talked to him about clotted cream,” I said.

“Fuck your doctor!” said Chris. “You are going to die… If he told you to have less clotted cream, then have more. It’s clotted cream. It’s not heroin… When you write this in your blog, stress that I do not think addiction is funny. It can lead to humour, but ultimately it’s a painful and selfish problem and hurts many people, not only the user.”

“I will remember to include that bit,” I told Chris.

“Richard Griffiths has created a fan base for me in Swansea,” Chris continued. “I used to have videos on YouTube but I took them off because I didn’t want people to see my very old stuff and I’m a very different comic now and, if you want to see me, then pay to see me live on stage. It’s worth paying the money. I’m a better comic live. Most comedy is.”

“So Richard Griffiths has created a fan base for you…” I prompted.

“Yeah, by projecting old YouTube videos in pubs and by inviting people along to see Chris Dangerfield ‘virtual’ gigs in Swansea. So he asked me Will you come down to Swansea and do a gig? and I said Absolutely not – It’s miles and miles away, there’ll be seven people there, you’ve never promoted a gig before and No No No.

“And he said What about if I can guarantee 300 tickets sold at £10 and we go thirds on that, I give a little bit to charity and I pay you in advance? And I said Ye-e-e-es. And he asked Will Trevor Lock come down and be your support act? and I said Yes, so, after charity and things, it works out at about £900 to go and do my Sex Tourist show in Swansea.”

“Sounds good,” I said.

“As far as I know,” Chris told me, “the money went through today and we are driving down to the arse end of Swansea on Friday – I can’t even pronounce it – the Cwmfelin Club in Cwmbwrla – a working men’s club. Usually they have bingo on, but this week they have my Sex Tourist show and they’ve been told I’m the best live performer in Britain at the moment and that I’m going into rehab at the weekend, which they seem to love. Richard said ticket sales went up by 100% when people found out I’m getting de-toxed the day after the gig.”

“It’s good to be big in Swansea,” I said.

“I occasionally get recognised by people,” Chris told me.

“Policemen?” I suggested.

Chris laughed. “In Edinburgh, quite a lot,” he said, “and also very occasionally on Old Compton Street someone will say Are you that comic? And recently, at an Arsenal v Swansea football match, ten blokes in Swansea kit started chanting Dangerfield! Dangerfield! and I thought I’m dead. I am dead. But they came over and said: We know about the girl with the lobster hands. We know about the goat that you painted blue and they were telling me loads of my material which also happens to be my life, which was very, very weird. So I do seem to have a fan base in Swansea.”

“So,” I said, “you go to Swansea on Friday this week, then into rehab at the weekend…”

“Yeah,” said Chris. “I’ve been clean for four-and-a-half years. I had a blip in Thailand, but that was only a couple of days. Now I have problems again and my sponsor is going to detox me because I can’t do it myself. I can’t control the drugs. Give me a week’s worth of narcotics and tell me to Taper yourself down and I will eat them all that night.”

“So you have a sponsor?”

“There are traditions in the Twelve Step Fellowships,” Chris started.

“Sounds like Hobbits on drugs,” I said.

“There are traditions,” Chris continued, “which say I cannot say. Please point out in your blog that this is ridiculous. There are traditions, at the level of press radio and film, that we remain anonymous. The sponsor is one of my… I know him through my…”

“This,” I observed, “is starting to sound more like Fight Club and you are not allowed to talk about it.”

“It’s ridiculous,” said Chris. “I say Tell people! It goes back to the 1950s, when you could lose your job or your social standing if you were an alcoholic and it got out. I don’t give a fuck, as you know. You ask me a question, I’ll tell you the truth.

“Have I put my hand up a dead person’s bum to pull drugs out? Yes I have. It’s not a nice thing. But secrets, I find, separate humans whereas honesty and truth brings humans together.”

“I didn’t actually ask about hands and dead people,” I said, slightly worried.

“But it’s a very good example of me not keeping secrets,” explained Chris. “I’m writing an article for the Huffington Post at the moment. They turned down my second one. It was about not giving a shit about animal brothels in Germany… In Germany, you can go fuck a horse in a brothel… I don’t give a shit. If you want to look at cruelty to animals, have a look at the pet industry.”

“Why do you think they turned that one down?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said Chris. “They didn’t give me a reason.”

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