Britain is a very tolerant nation. We allow people to say what they like without arresting them, we give murderers new identities and let them live amongst us, and even Jordan has fans.
Alcohol helps our tolerance.
I was standing at a taxi rank in Glasgow after my gig when a drunk woman approached me, “Is my hair still here?” she asked, with her blonde hair extension hanging over her face, a false eyelash on her check, and a big hole in her fishnet tights. I said, “Yes it’s all there”. “God, I’m so pissed” she continued “And I’m on the morning shift”.
She then vomited all over my new shoes.
“What do you do” I asked?”
“I’m a Doctor” she replied.
Instead of punching her in the face for ruining my footwear, I helped her into a cab and gave her a tissue.
The next night I was performing at a gig in Glasgow where most of the people had been drinking. It was Saturday night, and the area where I was staying would be described by estate agents as ‘lively’.
The street was full of motor bike shops that would become very noisy on a Saturday morning from 6am when people would come along to try them out. No one complained.
At the venue, there was only one toilet and two bar staff for 300 people. No one complained.
The show began, and all night there were jokes about paedophilia, rape, and incest.
No one complained.
But when a comedian made a joke about ginger people, a man in the audience stood up and shouted -“Now you’ve gone too far, mate! Come on lets take it outside, I’ll knock your block off!”
I can’t help thinking the people in this Glaswegian village have got their priorities all wrong. Or maybe I have.