BRISTOL

On Sunday evening, John, Simon, his mate Tim and I went to Bristol. We had bought tickets way back in the summer to see Frankie Boyle live at the Colston Hall. On the way there, we stopped to get something to eat at Nandos in Longwell Green.

After eating our fill of chicken, we began our trip deep into Bristol. Even before we had got to the car park, we knew things weren’t right. A young child stood alone by himself and emptied the entire contents of an oversized water pistol into a cash machine kiosk, while either his parents or passers by stood and laughed… to be fair, we did the same.

A short drive from the trainee bank robber, took us to Trenchard Street, directly opposite the Colston Hall. With lots of time to kill before Frankie Boyle started his act, we decided to look for somewhere to drink. We looked at the Colston Hall bar, but were put off by the customers handing over £50 notes for a few drinks and not receiving any change… very expensive. Had I wanted to be robbed in the middle of the day, I would have got my iPhone out in front of the dodgy looking gang in the street.

Despite spending many of my early years living in Bristol, I do not know my way around the city, especially when it comes to pubs – to be fair, I moved to Bath when I was 10, so was far too young to drink, even by Bristolian’s standards.

Tim led us to a nice looking place dubbed ‘the oldest pub in Bristol’. I say ‘nice looking’; it looked good from the outside. Once we walked in, I realised we had made a mistake. It was a rough, biker’s pub. There may well have been blood, vomit and teeth on the floor – I didn’t check. What I did notice was what looked like a crack addict stoned out his mind in a chair. I was scared and almost soiled myself.

We drank outside in the beer garden. It wasn’t exactly a beer garden. More like a patio surrounded by tall, spiked fencing. I felt like an animal at Bristol Zoo. It was unclear if the fence was to keep those on the streets out of the pub or those in the pub off the streets.

I quickly drank my Thatcher’s cider (the one blessing of the horrible establishment) before running through the pub at great speed.

By the time we had escaped and made our way back to the relative safety of the Colston Hall, it was almost time for Frankie…

FRANKIE BOYLE

Frankie Boyle’s tour is called I Would Happily Punch Every One of You in the Face. Given the title, as well as Boyle’s past material and reputation, I expected a show full of controversy and offensive material.

I was not wrong. I will not repeat the jokes on here. Firstly, I do not have the comic skills to deliver them in the manner in which he does. I probably wouldn’t get away with them either and would no doubt be branded a sick and twisted bastard… a bit like Frankie Boyle.

Oh, and yes, he did do THAT joke (which, by the way, I didn’t actually think was that funny and certainly far less offensive than his other stuff).

Overall, an enjoyable evening; but very, very dark, crude and offensive. If you like comedy that pushes the boundaries, not only to the edge, but totally over to the other side; or you simply have a heart of stone and are not offended by anything whatsoever, then this show is for you. Otherwise, stick to the ever so nice, and equally funny, Russell Howard.