Nostalgia: How long's that been around? - Bill Bailey

I was alone, my heart was cold, it was a stone, My soul was lonely like a stone there was no moss. And when I danced, I danced alone, But then I did not dance, because I was alone, so I did not dance. I shuffled through life invisible to all the happy couples Who would mock me with their merry laughter - ha ha ha. The only sound I heard in my lonely silent world was the rusty hammer of my heart, nailing at the hatred in my soul... But then you came... And my life was turned upside down. You showed me the beauty of the things that I had never seen, like a snowflake that melts on the eyelash of a startled deer. Or the painting of the dog that wears a deerstalker and smokes a pipe that made you laugh so heartily, but I had previously thought was rubbish. Or the duck that lands so clumsily on a frozen pond in Winter, but the intoxicating power of our love transforms this simple act into an anthropomorphic drama. Where Mr Duck's embarrassed and the other ducks are laughing. Quack, quack, quack. And then you left. And I died a thousand deaths and I will die a thousand more. And I thought you were an angel but you turned out to be a whore. And everything has turned to dust, everything is infected with a plague - Why did you have to sleep with Craig? 'Oh, he's so sensitive, he's got a tattoo' Yeah, carving your name with a compass in my forehead was not enough for you! The snowflake on the eye of the deer has turned to pus that oozes from an open wound... The deer now blinded stumbles into a ravine. The duck lies shredded in a pancake, soaking in the hoisin of your lies. The dog has moved from the pipe to 60 cigarettes a day and coughs his away life in the cold neon research lab of your betrayal. Of your betrayal!

Talking of tough gigs, I saw a very tough gig in New York, it was Whitney Houston. She was doing this open-air gig in New York. It was in the winter, and it was like minus eight degrees, in Lincoln Plaza. She was meant to be on at three, there were about three-thousand people there. Ten past three, no sign of Whitney. Half past three, crowd getting a bit grumpy, a bit restless. Eventually, four o'clock, Whitney sashays onto the stage in a fur coat. She comes up to the microphone, she says "I just want to say I love every single one of you." And this huge black guy next to me says "Sing, bitch!". Tough crowd.

BB: I'm actually from the West Country...
[solitary cheer from audience]
BB: Hypnotized, or actually? What are you doing here?
Audience member: I had to come.
BB: What do you mean you had to come here? What, you were on some dark purpose?
Ch. 4, 07:38