Tuesday, 28 September 2010

Thank you Britain

After my mental Edinburgh and Roadshow appearance, I am humbled by the enormously positive feedback and love I have received from the wider British public. I have dreamt of making comedy that could build bridges, comedy that everyone in our increasingly polarised country can embrace, and although not everyone will be pleased, the new legion of fans from every community has warmed my heart and replenished my hopes to really do something different with the magic that is comedy.

We all laugh in the same language, comedy is the vehicle with which we can explore our commonalities and expose the divisive fear, greed, and affiliation tactics that are employed to polarise us for sinister gains. I know this sounds like hippy-talk of a modern day Gandhi, but it's my vision and my way my of life, so whatever good it reaps is not my own to keep, but simply a contribution towards the hope that comedy can be the opportunity for something positive.

All of this is a far cry from the school failure I was. Always told off for talking too much or not paying attention, I never did my homework because I was too busy playing Street Fighter II on my Super Nintendo.

If you're not familiar with the Super Nintendo, well, you missed out on the golden era of video games. Before games were ridiculous in their scope and detail, games were simply fun and had actual game play, where skill and intuition were what drove gamers to shell out up to £60 or even more for royalty-inducing cartridges that contained a video game that would now fit on a cheap USB stick several times over.

Before the games industry had any links to the education institutes, I had already decided that I wanted to become a games designer. Careers advisers just looked at me blankly when I told them this and would recommend that I get into "Graphic Design", as this is what their manual told them to do with difficult creative visionaries like me. Armed with bum fluff and an NRA (National Record of Achievement) folder I entered the real world of being 16 and over expecting the swimming certificates I had to make an impression in the interviews I would be in as I tried to find my place in the adult world. That NRA folder was an utter waste of time, we spent ages on it in class, took it to an interview, only for the employer to lean on it with their elbow whilst asking you questions in regards to your aspirations in the stock movement capacity of a department store for minimum wage. Once regaling them with my dreams of something other than cheap manual labour, it was often easy to get a job to fund my higher education as long as I could speak English and put things into boxes.

I still have my NRA folder today, I will keep it was a reminder and lesson for my unborn children that despite how polished your certificates and personal statements are, if you're a unmotivated cack-handed bellend with no grasp of language, then you're really digging your own grave.

Winston Churchill, dyslexic yet Prime Minister of Britain. Richard Branson, dyslexic yet billionaire industrialist. Yoda, dyslexic yet Jedi Master.

"Oh, so you smarty art now? Well, lemme aks you this, lemme aks you this... can you kick... my ass?"

*Yes, this is parody of an existing Chris Rock joke.

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