George, Don’t Do That! Episode 1

Royal Correspondents are normal people. I put on my garters, my suspenders and press my velvet cravat each morning just like the next man. For years, I feel as if I have been pigeon-holed a one type of person.

I am not posh. I am not a toff. I am no better than any of you. Maybe the people need to go back to their council estates and claim their free benefits and live their life the decent people they so clearly are.

I’m sorry… I’ve had a bad week.

Before this week I hadn’t yet had the wonderful opportunity to speak to the beautiful Duchess of Cambridge – the beautiful Kate! Such poise and elegance – I have been bursting to meet her!

Unfortunately, not yet having infiltrated the inner circle of elite Royal correspondents – the rest of us call them, ‘trust fund babies’… we are too, of course, but theirs are bigger. Bigger, as my wife sadly keeps reminding me, apparently really does mean better. My opportunities for a meeting have been few and far between.

My chance came this week, as the Duchess attended a Christening for a dear friend’s child, with her son Prince George in a little church in Wiltshire.

As she walked the pathway to the church, she was inundated by members of the public. Not the British Public – they rarely have time for all these petty events, but Americans, Japanese, French – all those who surely dream of having a monarch.

As a friend held baby George, she stepped quietly away from the furore – now mostly focused on the child – and stepped right next to me!

I could barely contain my excitement! We shared a glance and a moment of awkward silence, before I eventually got up the courage to say, ‘Young George seems to be handling things rather well!’ followed by a kind smile.

She turned around and frowned at me. I didn’t understand. She quickly strode over to a push chair outside of the waiting tourists being looked after by two men in black suits. She picked up the bawling baby and started to comfort it.

The baby playing in the middle wasn’t George. I had got the wrong baby.

Was I embarrassed? Mightily. I console myself with the fact that all babies look the same, so this one really isn’t my fault.

Actually, I take that back. The last thing I want to be seen as is a baby racist.

I slunk off quietly to my car. I had half a bottle of Brandy in there. Which…. I of course didn’t drink until I was safely in my bath.

It’s been a tough week.

For more, ‘George Don’t Do That!’ Click here

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TY-TBL (Thank You – Tim Berners-Lee)

Welcome to TY-TBL Productions!

Having been in Hollywood for seven weeks, and constantly having my hopes of collaboration shot down, I have decided to start creating my own videos!

All my videos can be seen on this page, and can also be viewed on the TY-TBL tumblr page!

To begin with (until people start watching my videos or I manage to find some actual acting talent!) most of my videos will be audio sketches.

If you do get a second, I would enormously appreciate you checking some of them out!

Thank you so much,

Love to you all!

Guy Hugo 🙂

List of current videos:

Philosophical Porn Producers

My Affair

It’s 9 pm and my schedule says ‘3 hours of writing’. This is not going to happen. 

It isn’t that I don’t want it to happen. That isn’t it at all, I really do want to write, I LOVE to write… I want to create something tonight. But there is a problem. There is something I haven’t been entirely honest about. I want to… nay, I HAVE to come clean about this. If I don’t then it is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. 

I’M HAVING AN AFFAIR.

I’m having an affair….I’m having an affair, oh my goodness, it feels so incredible to finally be able to say those words. It eases the guilt somewhat. 

It started off small. We would spend maybe, half an hour together, maybe once or twice a week. 3 times if I needed the pick-me up. 

Now it is everyday. Every morning and evening and late into the night. I just can’t keep it a secret anymore. 

It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t make the first move. Our eyes met one night at a friends house, and, well. That was that. No going back from there. 

This, is an open letter to Family Guy. You have entered my dreams and my heart, and you have taken me away from writing, my love, for too long now. 

I wish I knew how to quit you. 

 

 

An Englishman In LA

Why are cars still going past the crossing when the pedestrian green light is showing? WHY ARE CARS STILL GOING PAST THE CROSSING WHEN THE PEDESTRIAN GREEN LIGHT IS SHOWING?! I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’M GOING TO DIE!

I walk over roughly 30 pedestrian crossings every day in my perennial journey around LA on foot. I go through those exact emotions each and every time. That in my book accounts to 390 near death experiences. I’ve been here for 13 days. 

Do I need to to loosen up a little? Am I prematurely ageing? Everything seems so big and excessive, people speak to each other of the streets – it just doesn’t seem right. I mean, millions of Los Angelenos go through these exact emotions every day, so what is my problem? Maybe I have late onset Benjamin Button Syndrome. Ooh – great film idea there. It could be a sequel – Bonny Buckle. The street tough, who turns from young to old to young again, and learns a little bit about himself in the process. I’m getting ahead of myself here. (Hollywood, watch out).

I’ve narrowed it down to two possible reasons:

  1. I’m 19 and senile.
  2. I’m English.

For the purposes of this post and my dignity, I’m going to say it’s the second.

I can’t stop myself from my self from tutting when I see ‘realize’ on a poster in the street. Does that make me a bad person?

I don’t know what to think.

I don’t want to seem culturally insensitive, and I know that when I go to a new country I should learn their language. I really should. And I’m sure over time, I will become more fluent. In time I will understand their over baring use of the letter Z. (‘zed’ or ‘zee’ in this language). In time.

For now, I’ll have to continue with my rather clumsy use of sign language. When a boy on my course asked me this morning where the ‘bathroom’ was, I politely told him that there wasn’t one in the building. Why would you need a bathroom in the middle of the day, five minutes before you go into class? Again he asked for the bathroom, and I told him what I was thinking

‘Why would you need a bathroom now?’,

‘Please man, I’m desperate’.

This confused me. He didn’t seem to smell too bad, certainly not desperately in need of a wash. 

‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t understand what you want’

‘Dude please’

At this point his desperation clearly had an over-ride on his inhibitions, as he very unsubtly mimed urinating on the wall we were facing. I understood. He wanted to urinate in a bath. I decided not to give him the strange satisfaction of this, and instead directed him to what I considered to be a more appropriate location, to relieve his burden. 

‘Ah, you mean the loo! Take a right, and it’s the first door on the right’.

I did manage to get in a ‘that was easy, wasn’t it’ but he run too far to catch it, which was a shame. I have loved my first few weeks in LA, they have genuinely been life changing so far. I just wish the language barrier wasn’t such a big issue. But oh well. I’ll learn. Just as the tortoise beet the hair, so I will learn the American concept of ‘socialize’. 

Thank you for reading

GH