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My Uncle Shimmy met Santa Claus in the North Pole.

16 Dec

12 Noon Sunday 16 December 2012 Nunhead Heights, London

My Uncle Shimmy met Santa Claus in the North Pole. Not only had he met Santa, but he was given a tour of Santa’s Workshop. 

I was a kid in the 1960s and my mother’s older brother, my Uncle Shimmy, was the family clown. 

He looked like Kramer from Seinfeld. He was like Kramer from Seinfeld. He would dance for strangers on the Coney Island Boardwalk, feed the ducks in Prospect Park with salami because he thought they wanted some meat with all the bread. He’d often buy groceries for poor people where he lived in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. He drove a delivery truck so he couldn’t have much money himself.

My father didn’t think much of my mother’s family, or anyone, for that matter. My father wasn’t a generous man. When Uncle Shimmy would visit us on Long Island my father would announce derisively, ‘Everybody! Santa Claus is here!’ 

Often my mother was in the hospital sick during the holidays, suffering from a ‘chemical imbalance’. Our holidays were often dark and lonely times.

Uncle Shimmy would bring me and my sister small gifts. He once gave me a P51 airplane model – worth about a dollar – which I cherished. Then, he’d look around to see if my father was listening, and when he was sure he wasn’t he’d tell us how he’d met Santa Claus.

He told us that in the 1950s he was working on the DEW Line – the ‘Distant Early Warning Line’. He was helping build the string of monitoring stations across Alaska, Canada and Greenland for NORAD that kept America safe from Russian attack. Americans were very afraid of the Russians during the Cold War.

The conditions were hellish – well, the opposite of hell – freezing. He was living and working in blinding snowstorms with temperatures so low that ordinary thermometers would crack. 

One morning he was flying around with his partner in the snow tractor hundreds of miles north of the Arctic Circle. A snow tractor was like a car with tracks like an army tank – able to ride on snow and ice. They hit a crevasse and crashed through the ice. Down into a hole they fell into Santa’s workshop like Alice in Alice in Wonderland.

Santa’s workshop wasn’t what they thought it would be like, he’d tell us.

‘Do you know the office your father works in at American Machine and Foundry in Manhattan?’ he asked. ‘It’s like that but bigger. There were hundreds of desks and phones, teletype machines, Rolodexes with thousands of names, IBM adding machines, typewriters, and a giant computer.’

Santa rushed out of his office to see him. He wasn’t even a man Uncle Shimmy told us. ‘He’ was a woman.

My sister and I would giggle, ‘Mommies don’t do stuff like that!’

‘Why can’t a woman be a Santa Claus? There were all sorts of people who were Santas. I saw the paintings and photographs of past Santa Clauses on the wall! Chinese Santas, young Santas. There was even a Negro Santa. Can you believe that? That was years before they let Jackie Robinson play for the Brooklyn Dodgers.’

You could sense the shame and anger he felt that his America wasn’t as fair as it should have been.

He’d continue, ’Santa was screaming at people at the workshop, “How could you have let this happen!? Why was the roof so weak!!” An angry Santa? True. She swore like a sailor!’

The Workshop roof had never had big snow tractors driving across it before. She calmed down and showed my Uncle and his partner around the place, down corridors and offices.

‘Did you see reindeer?’ I jumped in.

‘A few. They were kept as pets.’

‘What about elves?’ my sister demanded to know.

I didn’t even know what an elf was. We weren’t really raised with Christmas, except the presents. We didn’t even have a Christmas Tree. We got our presents on Hannukah because we were Jews but we knew we were getting presents because every boy and girl got presents in December because of Christmas.

‘No elves. People. Normal people were on the phones, calling around the world,’ he answered.

‘Did you see them make the toys?’ we quizzed him.

He laughed, ‘The toys were made in Japan!’

We laughed. That is where they made toys then. Now they’re made in China.

‘Well, what does Santa do if he… ummm … she… doesn’t make the toys, and if she doesn’t deliver the toys to nice boys and girls? And if he doesn’t have the elves helping him… I mean… helping her?’

Uncle Shimmy got serious, ‘Two thousand years ago there were only a few kids who wanted toys at Christmas – just a few Christian kids. He… she… could manage. But now? Now there are hundreds of million of Christian boys and girls. And today Jewish kids, Indian kids, even kids who don’t believe in God – expect presents! That’s BILLIONS of children!’

‘Do you think Santa has the time to make that many bicycles and dolls and games and then deliver them to all those kids? NO WAY!’

‘Well, what does he… she… do?’ we wanted to know.

‘She gets department stores to have regular people pretend to be Santa Claus. And she gets musicians to write funny songs about seeing Santa kissing mommy. You know all those ads with Santa Claus? That’s what she does. All so people don’t believe in Santa Claus.’

Outside the house Uncle Shimmy had his big brown van. He drove the van for living. My father was embarrassed for him. My father was a lawyer and almost all my friends’ dads worked in offices in Manhattan. I knew no one whose father drove a truck. That is something my parents left behind when they made money and moved to the suburbs from Brooklyn.

‘Is there a bicycle in there? Can I have a new bicycle?’

‘Not from me. Your Mommy and Daddy are getting you another bicycle,’ he whispered.

‘They have the money and even though your Mommy is sick and in the horse pistol, she loves you.’ Horse pistol is what he called the mental hospital my mom used to go to when he was chemically imbalanced – the Institute of Living in Hartford, Connecticut. It’s still there.

‘I’m going to bring bicycles to a few children who don’t have mommies or daddies, or whose mommies and daddies are too poor to buy them presents, or whose mommies and daddies believe in Santa Claus and don’t think they have to get their children presents for Christmas.’

‘Are you Santa?’ we would ask Uncle Shimmy.

‘No, I’m just helping Santa,’ he gently shook his head. ‘Though if I’m very, very good maybe, one day, maybe I’ll get asked to be the Santa. That would be a great responsibility but a great honor.’

My father would sneer. ‘If he keeps this up he’s going to be the Santa in the horse pistol. And he’s going to get fired by the UPS for using their van without their permission.’

I knew I shouldn’t tell anyone or I would be making Santa’s job harder. I couldn’t keep a secret. I still can’t keep secrets. I only told my best friends, Clifford and Mark, what Uncle Shimmy had told me. They laughed at me and called me a baby for believing in Santa.

When I was eleven Uncle Shimmy stopped visiting us.

I’d ask my father if Uncle Shimmy would be coming back and my father would shrug his shoulders. First my mother went away, and now Uncle Shimmy.

The next year my father went out and bought toys and dolls and games from Gertz’s Department Store in Great Neck Plaza and the small toy shop next to the dry cleaners on Middle Neck Road.

My sister and I helped wrap them and load them into the Buick. We went to the scary rundown apartment buildings by the train station and gave them to the poor Black and Spanish families who lived there. On the way back home we stopped by the pond in Allenwood Park and my father gave us salami to feed the ducks.

‘We’re just helping Uncle Shimmy until he comes back,’ my father told us.

>>>>>>>

My friend Neil McLennan helped me tell this story.
@lewisschaffer – twitter feed

 Listen to Lewis Schaffer on the Radio Nunhead American Radio with Lewis Schaffer every Monday evening at 10:30PM on http://www.resonancefm.com and 104.4fm London. Or listen to the show’s podcasts at bit.ly/NunheadAmericanRadio

Restarting January 8th, 2013: See Lewis Schaffer live every Tuesday and Wednesday: Lewis Schaffer is Free until Famous, The Source Below, 11 Lower John Street, London W1F 9TY. Come on down. Free admission. Or reserve at bit.ly/londonfreeshow

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Potty train your tiny baby and save 100s of pounds and years of heartache and pain.

20 Oct

8:00 AM Saturday 20th October 2012 Nunhead Heights

When I mentioned infant potty training [USA: infant toilet training] in my post of 22 March 2012 ‘Potty training a three month old baby is the least sexy thing a man do’ I received over 3000 emails, texts, and calls asking me how it’s done. I was overwhelmed.

Actually, I got no feedback at all.

Maybe no one believes it can be done. Or that everyone has heard of it and I am just restating the obvious. Or that people don’t want to know. Or that I am a man and what do I know. Or maybe people know how mental I am regarding baby stuff. But here goes again, and then I will let it go.

How to Potty Train a Baby

1. Get a baby.

My baby (and by ‘my baby’ I mean the baby I borrowed from the mother) was three months old but who knows how young a baby you can do this with. It may work on even younger babies. It probably won’t work on babies much older than eight or nine months old.

2. Be a stay at home parent.

You’ll need to be with your baby all day or have someone else who wants to learn the technique to help. Nappies (diapers) must have been invented so mothers could leave their children with untrained, low paid strangers while they went to work for only slightly more money than they paid the childminders. 

3. Wake your baby.

First thing in the morning, wake your baby up a couple of minutes before he or she normally wakes.

Holding his legs together, quickly take him to the bathroom.
Take off his nappy, and hold him over the toilet in a position approximating sitting.
He should pee. Then wait half a minute and he may poo.
Put on a clean nappy – one with Velcro so you can reuse it if possible.

4. Feed your baby while keeping his legs closed. Do not put the baby down.

Immediately after feeding, take the baby to the toilet again and hold him over the bowl. Wait a few more seconds to see if he wants to poo.
Put on a clean nappy, or reuse the old nappy if he hasn’t soiled it.

5. Go about your day.

Put the baby down for a nap. Wake the baby wake up a bit earlier than he normally wakes and take him to the toilet.
Remove his nappy, and hold him over the bowl.

Put on his nappy.

4, again. Feed him while holding his legs together. Do not put down.

After feeding take him to the bowl.
Hold over toilet.
Put on his nappy.

Proceed like this for two to four days.

After he is ‘trained’, take him to the loo only when he wakes, after you feed him and before he goes to sleep.

The End!

Congratulations, you have successfully ‘trained’ a baby to pee and poo only when his privates are exposed to the air and over the toilet bowl.

Congratulations, you have saved hundreds or thousands of pounds or dollars per year per baby. And you’ve saved yourself from the drudgery of buying and carrying nappies and nappy wipes.

Congratulations: You’ve avoided the heartache and pain that comes from trying teach a two-year-old not to poo in his pants.

I removed a photo of human waste in a diaper. I couldn’t look at it and didn’t think you would, either. 

Congratulations, your hands aren’t covered in baby poo.

Congratulations, your baby isn’t walking around in a sackfuls of pee and poo.

And Congratulations, you are not polluting the water by washing cloth nappies or filling up landfills with used nappies.

That is how you potty train a baby. Simples, as the kids today say.

Tell me what you think.

@lewisschaffer – twitter feed

Listen to Lewis Schaffer on the Radio Nunhead American Radio with Lewis Schaffer every Monday evening at 10:30PM on www.resonancefm.com and 104.4fm London. Or listen to the show’s podcasts at bit.ly/NunheadAmericanRadio

See Lewis Schaffer live every Tuesday and Wednesday: Lewis Schaffer is Free until Famous, The Source Below, 11 Lower John Street, London W1F 9TY. Come on down. Free admission. Or reserve at bit.ly/londonfreeshow

The new way to make enemies.

2 Oct

10 AM Tuesday 2 October 2012 Nunhead Heights

It used to take a week to make an enemy. You had to leave the house and actually speak to people. At least that’s what I did.

Now I can make thousands of enemies in just a few minutes at home. All because of the internet.

They call it ‘social media’. In my hands, it’s ‘anti-social media’.

The accusations against ‘TV Comic’ Justin Lee Collins touched a nerve.

My children weren’t staying over with me, again. They haven’t slept over in months even though the court says I’m supposed to have them twice a week. I was feeling bitter and angry at being frozen out of my children’s lives.

Not the best time to be writing about relationships.

I posted a defense of Justin Lee Collins.

It wasn’t funny.

If I can’t make something I say or write funny I’m probably too angry or too wrong and I definitely shouldn’t say it or post it.

I’ve gone not funny again. I shouldn’t post this. I’ll make even more enemies.

@lewisschaffer – twitter feed

Listen to Lewis Schaffer on the Radio Nunhead American Radio with Lewis Schaffer every Monday evening at 10:30PM on www.resonancefm.com and 104.4fm London. Or listen to the show’s podcasts at bit.ly/NunheadAmericanRadio

See Lewis Schaffer live every Tuesday and Wednesday: Lewis Schaffer is Free until Famous, The Source Below, 11 Lower John Street, London W1F 9TY. Come on down. Free admission. Or reserve at bit.ly/londonfreeshow

Never give away the microphone: The best comedy show I’ve ever been to.

27 Sep

2 PM Thursday 27 September 2012 Nunhead Heights

I shouldn’t have given the girl the microphone. Never give away the microphone. That’s a basic comedy rule.

But then I shouldn’t have drunk her vodka when she went to the loo again – to do who knows what. Drugs? She had offered the audience if they wanted some vodka – she had brought a bottle in and pour it into a tumbler.

By that point it the “audience” wasn’t an audience anymore. And I wasn’t the comedian.

I had drank maybe three or four shots worth – half a tumbler – a lot. But it was funny to drink it. And when she came back, the audience – the participants – were all quiet, waiting to see what was going to happen. I was drunk and didn’t know what to do. I asked the bartender to get her some more vodka. Two shots. That didn’t help.

I never drink or rarely. I used to be able to say I never drank and was proud of that but now I do drink. I bought a Dell Insperion computer this week – a PC – after 28 straight years of Apple II and Macs. I felt the same as when I decided to drink like an English person: I have let myself down but it feels right.

And I shouldn’t have let her into the show in the first place. She seemed controlled by her soberish French Algerian boyfriend – or the dude I thought was her boyfriend. He seemed reasonable and she was really pretty – tall, slender Moroccan English.

I love tipsy chicks. At least I can understand why they’re being nice to me. How can I trust someone who is sober and wants to be with me?

Something similar happened the other evening when I was called to Mayfair – begged to Mayfair – by an exceedingly inebriated young woman, far too young for me. Men my age aren’t allowed the happiness. We aren’t allowed to run away to France with them. If we do our lives will be ruined. Their lives will go on and on and on. This will be a fun story for her while we’ll be in prison and tarred for life.

The Moroccan girl was 24, she told us. And out of prison.

Let me finish with the Mayfair girl. I go to the posh pub near Berkeley Square. Berkeley Square. Definitely not Nunhead. Flashback to The Patty Duke Show tv theme song. “Meet Cathy, who’s lived most everywhere, From Zanzibar to Barclay Square.” (American spelling on lyrics site). Posh. And Patty Duke was, or is, another insane one. Bi-polar like my mom. I read her book. Before I wrote a blog I trashed her on Amazon and got hate mail from her fans. Scary but fun.

Luckily, the Mayfair girl had very protective friends and even though they looked at me like I was a complete creep I was relieved when they took her home. I don’t like looking after anyone. That’s because of my mother. I had to look after my mother and that isn’t right. She was bi-polar, too, just like that Patty Duke.

It got hairy with the girl at the show when she was about to lunge for the English guy at the back who had told her to shut up. It was about that time that I noticed the suicide scars on her arms, and her whispering to me why she was in prison – something to do with having another girl’s back. I assumed that meant getting into fight to support a friend. She was tough.

Her sober friend eventually got her to leave. I walked her to the stairs and everyone was silent while they were upstairs, I assume he was trying to get her to leave the building.

And if this was anyone else’s show I don’t think it would have happened. If it did I wouldn’t be invited back. But the people there enjoyed it and not at the expense of the poor girl, if that is what you are thinking. I know cause the bucket was big and I got many email addresses.

Free until Famous in Soho isn’t someone else’s show. It is my “show” if you call it a show. And I can pretty much do what I want at my show. And the audience can do pretty much what it wants to do. And the girl can come back, too. But I’m going to ask her to buy a few drinks at the bar.


@lewisschaffer – twitter feed

Listen to Lewis Schaffer on the Radio Nunhead American Radio with Lewis Schaffer every Monday evening at 10:30PM on http://www.resonancefm.com and 104.4fm London. Or listen to the show’s podcasts at bit.ly/NunheadAmericanRadio

See Lewis Schaffer live every Tuesday and Wednesday: Lewis Schaffer is Free until Famous, The Source Below, 11 Lower John Street, London W1F 9TY. Come on down. Free admission. Or reserve at bit.ly/londonfreeshow

Teach your child to read with this simple miracle method.

16 Sep

9 AM Sunday 16 September 2012 Nunhead Heights

Is your child struggling to learn how to read? My son was. I came up with a method that works and I am sharing it with you. I call it READING PATTERNS. 

Most basic reading books don’t have enough of the same words for children to easily see the patterns. Words are patte
rns. Learn the patterns and they’re reading. 
That’s why I made lists of letter combinations: ba – bla- bra- ca – cha – cla – da – dra  and thousands more. Here is a small sample:

ba blu blo bi be bly bab big blun
bla bru bo bli ble bry blab blig brun
bra bu bro bri bre by blab brig bun
ca chu cho chi ce chy cab chig chun
cha clu clo ci che cly chab cig clun
cla cru co cli cle cry clab clig crun
cra cu cro cri cre cy crab crig cun
da dru do di de dry dab dig drun
dra du dro dri dre dy drab drig dun
fa fiu flo fi fe fly fab fig flut
fla flu fo fli fle fry flab flig frun
fra fru fro fri fre fy frab frig fun
ga glu glo gi ge gly gab gig glun
gla gru go gli gle gry glab glig grun
gra gu gro gri gre gy grab grig gun
ha hu ho hi he hy hab hig hun
ja ju jo ji je jy jab ig jun
ka klu klo ki ke kly kab jig kun
la kru ko kli kle kry lab kig lun
ma ku lo kri kre ky mab lig mun
na lu mo li le ly nab mig nun
pa mu no mi me my pab nig phun
pha plu pho pi pe ply phab phig plun
pla pru plo pli ple pry plab pig prun
pra pu po pri pre py prab plig pun
qua qu pro qui que ry quab prig quun
ra ru quo ri re scy rab quig run
sa sci ro sci sce shy sab rig scun
sca shu sho shi se sly scab scig shrun
sha sku sko si she smy shab shig shun
ska slu slo ski ske smy skab sig slun
sla smu smo sli sle sny slab skig snun
sma smu sno smi sme spy smab slig snun
sna spu so sni sne sty snab smig splun
spa stu spo spi spe swy spab snig spun
sta su sto sti ste sy stab spig spurn
swa swu swo swi swe thy swab stig strun
ta thu tho thi te try tab swig stun
tha tru to ti the ty thab thig sun
tra tu tro tri tre vy trab tig swun
twa twu two twi twe why twab trig thun
va vu vo vi ve wry vab twig trun
wa whu who whi we wy wab vig tun
wha wru wo wi whe zy whab whig twun
wra wu wro wri wre   wrab wig un
ya yu yo yi ye   yab wrig vun
za zu zo zi ze   zab yig wrun
              zig zun
                 

Have your child pronounce the first pattern he knows. If he can’t read at all, tell him one, and go from there. Have him go down the list, then across. Back and forth.

Print out this list. Spend fifteen minutes twice a day. In a couple a weeks you’ll see the improvement. In less than two months he’ll be a reader. This is but one sheet.

I will send you a PDF with maybe 20,000 different letter combinations for £20 just email me at letloveflow@hotmail.co.uk telling me where to send it.

READING PATTERNS  Copyright Lewis Schaffer 2012

@lewisschaffer – twitter feed

Listen to Lewis Schaffer on the Radio Nunhead American Radio with Lewis Schaffer every Monday evening at 10:30PM on www.resonancefm.com and 104.4fm London. Or listen to the show’s podcasts at bit.ly/NunheadAmericanRadio

See Lewis Schaffer live every Tuesday and Wednesday: Lewis Schaffer is Free until Famous, The Source Below, 11 Lower John Street, London W1F 9TY. Come on down. Free admission. Or reserve at bit.ly/londonfreeshow

Screw Michelle Obama and her lovely family.

5 Sep

3PM Wednesday

Screw Michelle Obama and her lovely family.

Why must every friggin’ American politician announce that their parents didn’t have much money but they grew up with oodles of love, discipline, values and that their parents supported their families with two, three, ten jobs…?*

Insert scream here.

*Except the ones with oodles of money

I tried to watch Michelle Obama’s Democratic National Convention 2012 speech. My eyes caught on fire and I had to turn it off.

Not only couldn’t I stand the cringing rubbish of teachers who are fighting to make it through because the Republican cuts and the blinded no-leg soldiers who are going to run marathons and who would lose their eyes again for America.

But the most cringing is the glorification of her and Barack Obama’s parents. The deification, the sanctification, the glorification, the damned ications.

If it is true – if Michelle and her hubby Barack Obama were given massive love and a safe environment and had incredible role models as children – then they’ve had the same advantage as Mitt Romney, who grew up with money and inherited money.

Having loving parents is maybe a MORE unfair advantage than having just rich parents.

We all know it’s almost impossible to be a success with unearned money. The smartest rich Americans don’t leave their children much. Andrew Carnegie gave it all away and so is Bill Gates. That is very American.

The reverse is true here in Britain where the goal is to hand down the wealth that your parents gave you and then some. That is why Britain’s ruling elite, including the Royal Family, are so ill-suited to taking this country into the future. Britain is one giant game of hot potato. Risk adverse and possessive.

Anyone can be a success with the proper role models. Hard work and discipline is the most transferable and valuable of skills.

I didn’t have a safe environment to grow up it.

My mother was always buggering off into her dream world of anger and medications and depressions and periodic visits to psychiatric emergency wards and hospitals. I learned from my mother to see the sofa as a safe place.

My father was the brokest lawyer in the New York State Bar Association – in one of the most lucrative legal fields – Patent and Trademark Law. I don’t blame him for my failure because he actually worked. I didn’t see him doing it because he slaved in the AMF Building on Madison Avenue and in 15 Park Row, once the tallest building in the world. My mother wasn’t the best role model.

That said: I don’t know how loving Michelle Obama’s childhood was.

I do know that her husband – Barack Obama – didn’t have such a good childhood.

His African father fled his family to Kenya to have another family (or other families?) and Barack’s mother dumped him with his grandmother in Hawaii while she did some other stuff, I don’t remember what.

That isn’t why I don’t like Barack Obama.

Ronald Reagan had a drunken father and I think he was the second best president in my lifetime after Dwight David Eisenhower.

No, I don’t like the President cause he’s got some kind of score to settle. George W. Bush had a score against Saddam Hussein, and look where that got America.

Obama was raised by white people whom he probably believed had something to do with his African father being sent away. Resentment doesn’t make for a good president. Presidents have to get along with other people.

Either way, Michelle Obama is rubbish. Either she’s a braggart or she’s lying about their lovely, lovely, families.

Let me know if anything of this is factually incorrect. OR if any of this factually correct. I had rubbish parents and am doing the best I can.

@lewisschaffer – twitter feed

Listen to Lewis Schaffer on the Radio Nunhead American Radio with Lewis Schaffer every Monday evening at 10:30PM on http://www.resonancefm.com and 104.4fm London. Or listen to the show’s podcasts at bit.ly/NunheadAmericanRadio

See Lewis Schaffer live every Tuesday and Wednesday: Lewis Schaffer is Free until Famous, The Source Below, 11 Lower John Street, London W1F 9TY. Come on down. Free admission. Or reserve at bit.ly/londonfreeshow

Stuck inside of Nunhead with the Edinburgh Blues Again.

4 Sep

12:01 AM Tuesday 4th September 2012 Nunhead Heights

Yesterday was the worst day of the year.

It was exactly one week after the Edinburgh Festival. I’d forgotten how funny Lewis Schaffer was. I’d forgotten how soon it was going to be before Lewis Schaffer was to become famous and the money started rolling in. That’s what the Edinburgh Festival does to you. It makes you think you’re somebody.

Instead, I’m in Nunhead.

I spent a bit of yesterday with my younger son, the Wild One, who is excellent company as he’s usually up for anything. We went fantasy shopping at Curry’s, the appliance shop, dreaming about a new electric cooker and we sat in a massage chair. It doesn’t take much to keep us occupied.

Sadly, the rest of the week I spent waiting for him or my other son, the Sensible One “Mini-Lew” to come over. They live with their mother around the corner. This is probably a sad week for the mother, too, as she also does the Festival. I can understand her not wanting to give them up this week. Still, it would have been nice to have them stay over a night or two.

Next year, I need to be on a beach somewhere for the week, with the kids or by myself. My problem is that I never have a “Plan B”. I planned for the Festival and nothing afterwards.

That is why I am in Britain.

I was at the Boston Comedy Club in New York, host and main barker, back in 2000, and I didn’t know what to do next.

I got married to the mother of my children – she wasn’t a mother yet – and I followed her here to London. I didn’t know what else to do. That, and I loved her.

Some advice: Never, ever, EVER follow a woman. Let her follow you. Women are nest builders and there usually isn’t enough room in her nest for you. NEVER.

The week after the Festival is a huge let down.

There will always be a let down after something so intense. Four or more shows a day for 26 days in row and reviewers and people telling you how funny you are and even how “reductive” or “vulgar” you are. I miss my One Star reviews the most.

That’s the Zen of it. It’s binary. The On and then the Off. Only when things are OFF it is best to be somewhere very, very OFF, like Cornwall, or Tobago Island on the coast of Panama. Or even in Wigan, not that I have been there.

Instead, I was in Nunhead.

Today I restart my Soho shows at the Source Below and all will be okay. I’ll be back to being Lewis Schaffer again.

@lewisschaffer on twitter

“Lewis Schaffer is Free until Famous” Live in Soho
Shows Restart 4th September 8 PM
Every Tuesday & Wednesday 8pm Free Admission
Reserve at www.sourcebelow.com

Nunhead American Radio with Lewis Schaffer
Every Monday 10:30pm
www.resonancefm.com 104.4fm London
On iTunes www.bit.ly/NunheadAmericanRadio

Lewis Schaffer

Nunhead American Comedian

SO IT GOES - John Fleming's blog

John Fleming’s blog: human interest, humour, humor, comedy blog featuring eccentricity, performance, movies and occasionally a few tears

Nunhead Nags

A blog about Nunhead regeneration

Lewis Schaffer

Nunhead American Comic

Lewis Schaffer

Nunhead American Comedian

SO IT GOES - John Fleming's blog

John Fleming’s blog: human interest, humour, humor, comedy blog featuring eccentricity, performance, movies and occasionally a few tears

Nunhead Nags

A blog about Nunhead regeneration

Lewis Schaffer

Nunhead American Comic