Scott Capurro was good.

He was playing at the Soho theatre which I don't think is the greatest venue in the world.

Located on Dean street and seats about 200 people.

It's small, there is no reserve seating so you kinda shuffle along a bench until there are fourteen on each.

It's reminiscent of a lecture theatre.

After a brief introduction in the form of a rapid slideshow of images of naked guys, Heather Mills, George Bush, Obama,Hilary Clinton,Madeline Mccan.

And it set the tone for the evening.

The jokes were aplenty , not just about all of the above but directed at members of the audience as well - most notable a quartet of queen's who had firmly encamped themselves in the front row, not even when other patrons tried to seat also on the front row, so it was good to see a pack of bitches get it from a smarter, quicker bitch than themselves.

And this guy, Scott Capurro is a clever guy.

When he makes sexist and racist jokes, when he unleashes a tirade about how 'white' Obama is, about how inept Bush is, about Heather Mills not being able to run after Mccartney.....what he is really doing is holding up a mirror to the audience and asking them to confront their rascist tendencies, their own homophobia and their own fears about a world that is intent on bombing Iraq so Iraqi guys will be free to be who they want to be.

If I had one criticism, the dialogue didn't quite gel, it was quite tangential, but it was still the funniest 90 minutes...like, ever.

On the way out I noticed a poster advertising a gig for Janey Godley - who blogs on here.

Put the doughnut down and go check out her blog.

The company I work for don't give us much in the way of benefits.

I mean really, compared to other companies we are a little hard done by.

I hear ya...boo hoo me right?

But it's all relative.

Anyway one of the few benefits we do get is two free nights a year so G and I are using them this weekend and staying in The Mayfair in.....Mayfair.

Well duh!

We were recommended to go see the Vanity Fair exhibition at The National Portrait Gallery.

And it was stunning.

It displays some of the finest pictures used in the mag since it's inception in 1913.

There is the famous Demi Moore pic where she is naked and very pregnant, a portrait of Clint Eastwood in black and white with life etched into his craggy handsome features and Liza Minnelli in tight corset with cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth.

There are also some amazing group portraits, most notably one the RSC featuring Sir Ian Mckellen and Patrick Stewart.

What really stood out for me was the works of Annie Lebiwitz.

I had always known of her but she was on the periphery of my conciousness.

But to see all her amazing pieces of photographic art has totally blown me away.

They all have a depth of emotion, the composition of the setting enhances the subject to the extent that it is an extension of the subject.

And there is a sly wryness to them.

I am now eager to find more of her work.

But in terms of the exhibtiom...

Press the pause button and go check them out.

I swim now at least three times a week.

And I love it.

I used to dread anything like that, but it wasn't the physical activity I didn't like, it was the changing room.

I hated getting changed in front of other people, I hated being the fat guy in a room full of..well slim people.

It was the only time I was ever conciouse of my size.

But not anymore.

The place we go to is quite quiet, and frankly the guys that go there are too busy admiring their own physiques to bother with mine.

I spend about thirty minutes in the pool, swimming up and down, arms pulling me through the water, legs pushing and all the time feeling the muscle tense and tone.

But the effect of the pool is not just a physical one, for me it also has a meditative quality.

It's just a few minutes to myself where I can run things through my mind, ponder this and ponder that.

I'm not saying that draw any deep conclusions about life, but it just gives me a few minutes to look at things from different perspective.

Works for the body and mind.

''What ese shiipping?'' asks Arecelli, the new reservation girl. She replaces the telephone receiver after taking a reservation call.

She's Spanish.

We have christened her Alfie instead of Arecelli.

She doesn't seem to mind.

''It's boats and stuff'' I reply, a little suprise at the question ''you know, import and export''

''Ah!'' she says ''I thought it was 'sheeping', like baaa baaa!!''

She realises what she has said and bursts into laughter.

And so do we.

On the whole I liked the movie I am Legend.

I had read the book a few years ago on a holiday in Florida, and my mind was able to easily create Richard Nevilles nightmare world of Vampires, a world where is he is the last man alive.

Hell, my mind had been fed a diet of Horror movies since I was eight or nine years old as my mother loved them. The first one I saw was 'Alien' on a Sunday afternoon at my Uncle Terry's.

This was in the days before DVD's and a movie on video cost about £70.00.

He was a bit flash so he had a stack.

Anyhoo...

So I intially approached last years movie with a mixture of trepidation, until I saw the trailers and I started to get excited about what I was seeing.

New York looked amazing in post apocalyptic kinda way.

The urban decay, the weeds breaking through the asphalt, heck you can almost smell the staench of decayed flesh.

Will Smith looked the part as the tortured Neville, his only companion his dog.

I remembered the 'Omega Man' with Charlton Heston from the seventies, a definite product of it's time.

I bought the 'Last Man On Earth' with Vincent Price- and the first adaption of Richard Matheson's novel and was quite impressed.

It has a morbid, doomed quality that stems from Vincent Prices voice over and the eery wailing of the Vampires outside Nevilles house at night.

Of the three adaptions it is perhaps the closest to the source material.

When we went to see 'I am Legend' at the movies I was not disappointed.

As I say I liked the look of New York that has been neglected for a few years, overgrown and overrun with wild animals.

You feel his fear when he enters a darkened warehouse after his dog and stumbles upon a hive of the mutated New Yorkers.

You kinda understand the daily routine he has created fo rhimself in an attempt to stay sane.

You feel his pain when he has to destroy his only companion for three years after she become infected with the virus that has turned the human race into nocturnal cannibals.

At the end of the movie Neville gives his life so the two other survivors he has found may escape New York with a serum for the infected.

This is total departure form the novel, as the novel raises the question of morality and how morality is always aligned with the majority. In this case the majority being the Vampires and therefore Neville is the monster, who stakes them in their sleep during the day, their only answer is to kill him, publicly and he is therefore the last human being to walk the earth - a legend.

My only gripe with the movie would be that the 'Darkseekers' look too CGI, they don't really convince in a way make up and prosthetics may have.

I was pleasently suprised when I logged onto www.aintitcoolnews.com and they had posted an alternative ending to the movie, one that I think would have worked a lot better.

Go check it out

So the boss returned today from his week in Las Vegas, at the annual company conference.

He's been back since 8am this morning and it's now nearly 1pm.

And not a fucking word.

No ''How was the hotel last week.''

No ''What were the issues and what have we done about them''

Not even a ''Thank you for looking after the place...''

Ah, fuck em.