They're making me have a website

Hello and welcome to my first blog. A what? A blog is defined as a regularly updated web page that is written in an informal or conversational style. Informal, I can guarantee, regularly updated, I cannot. I’m very busy, you see. Mostly procrastinating about doing important things. Like before I sat down to write this, I ironed my pillow cases, scrolled back to 2014 in my Messenger inbox to see who I was trying to pull four years ago and then Googled to see if anyone else has acknowledged that Leonard Cohen and Anthony Bourdain appear to be the exact same person. And I garnered nothing from this except that in 2014 I got ghosted a lot. A blog feels quite intimate in comparison to doing stand-up. I feel like the only people that will read this are my Mum and whoever is currently wanting to have sex with me. A rather small readership indeed. 

Therefore, I feel compelled to tell you a secret. I have a few belters, I’m just deciding which one to pick. I’ll sprinkle it somewhere within this blog post as an evil tactic to make you keep reading. Sorry, Mum. But let’s be real- you probably already know the secret anyway. And no, it’s not the one where you shaved my legs for me until I was 14 because I was scared of razors. (For the benefit of my other 1-2 readers, it wasn’t like my Mum came into the bathroom with me- that would be SO lame! No, I used to stand on a piece of newspaper in the kitchen in my underwear while Mum bruised her knees on the tiles expertly making sure that she sheared every last almost-invisible-anyway blonde hair on my little chicken legs so I wouldn’t get bullied at school for resembling a human being.) 

School was weird, wasn’t it? I was such a gangly freak with dark pink ear cartilage the whole time and then I finally sorted my shit out with some blonde highlights in a head of brunette hair and got a pair of gladiator sandals that came up to my thigh and as a direct result, won Belle of the Ball in my final year of high school. Sounds no where near as cool as ‘Prom Queen’, does it? ‘Belle of the Ball’ sounds like a category in Crufts. And for such a prestigious title, it wasn’t very glamorous. As the pre-ball punch had been heavily spiked with Midori, all I really remember is my year coordinator Mr Papizarou trying to navigate my slicked middle parted hair do and instead violently scalping me with my tiara- which promptly came loose at the after party as I was being mercilessly fingered in the back of someone’s parents station wagon. 

Okay I’ve now got that feeling you get when you’ve shared too much on a first date and you’re worried you’ve ruined the illusion that you’re a cool, great, VERY together person. So I’m going to go and dust my skirting boards or another task just as menial. I hope you’ll come back to read some more nonsense soon. Love Brodi xxx

PS. I once keyed my own car whilst trying to get away from a wasp (that’s the secret, thanks for staying til the end).

Matt Stevenson