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………………..Comedy Bin at Anatolia Bar
………………..Wed, 8 September @ 20:00 BST
………………..253 Mare Street, London E8 3NS

………………..Monkey Business @ Solo Bar
………………..Tuesday 14 Septemper 20:00
………………..20 Inverness Street, Camden
………………..London NW1 7HJ

………………..Comedy Bin at The Horatia
………………..Tue, 21 September @ 20:00 BST
………………..98-102 Holloway Road, London N7 8JE

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Last week, one of these men came to the house. It was mid-morning after a night shower and the sun was still peeling unwelcome shards of light from the filmy surfaces of puddles. In the corner of my eye I saw a figure through the window, materializing as if from behind a reflection. Without a moment’s hesitation, he darted towards the door. His expression showed purpose, a deliberate poise, a determination to focus on a specific task rather than address the thousands of memories that seemed to be tumbling around behind his eyes. While I was excited to think of the urgency that he felt towards my home, I couldn’t help but feel anxious about the potentially unstable agenda he harboured. So I shouted to him “Hello there! How can I help you?” He didn’t answer. I know he saw me. His eyes met mine for at least half a second but he immediately looked on and resumed his approach, as though I were a mere distraction, an irrelevant visual obstacle to his mission. He didn’t look through me, he looked right at me, and I get the feeling he figured out everything about me from that one split second. I shouted louder. “Hello?” This time, no response at all. Not even a flicker. I looked on as he reached the door, and I wondered… how does he expect to address me if he can’t even acknowledge me through a window? But then he stopped. Right at the door… and he just stood there, for what seemed like an eternity. By now, my curiosity had turned to worry. What was he doing? Was he just trying to mess with me? Again, I shouted to him. “What is it? What do you want?” I could tell that my voice was cracking under the pressure and this would only make him more certain of his influence over me. I had to take a more assertive tone. “Look! I don’t know who you are but you can’t just go walking up to people’s houses and… Just… standing there! What are you doing?” Before I could finish my sentence, I was cut off by a sudden, shrill cracking sound coming from the door. No sooner had the sound decayed through the hallways, the man turned and walked away, like nothing had happened. I rushed into the hall to investigate the noise… and there it was… a brick, lying on the floor a few feet from the door. He had thrown a brick through the front door. I didn’t know this man, and having only just moved into this address, I felt absolutely sure that he didn’t know me. Yet he felt the need to vandalize the property. What is his problem? Is this a local custom? Is this how people say “hello” around here? By pelting a brick through your door?

To my astonishment, the man returned the next day. Just like before, he strode calmly up to the house like he lived here. I yelled to him through the window “Hey! HEY! Who are you? Why did you throw a brick through the door yesterday?” No response. This time he didn’t even bat an eyelid, although I get the feeling he may have let out a dismissive sigh. Again, he stopped at the door… and within a second, CRASH. He did it again. He threw a brick through the door. “What? Why would you… WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?” Again, he just hobbled away, neither pleased nor ashamed with what he had done. I was so inflamed with these infuriating questions that I pointed all of my rage towards the brick, and I felt I had no option but to pick it up and throw it maliciously against the wall while screaming something vulgar. I did, but I felt no better.

On the next day, there he was again. I was standing right by the door screaming at the top of my voice “Don’t throw a brick through the door! Do NOT throw a brick through the door! If you throw a brick through the door then so help me God I’ll…” He threw not one brick through the door… but three. He threw three bricks through the door. “WHY? Why three now? Where will this end, strange man? Where will this end?!” Again, I picked up the bricks and began hurling them dementedly against nearby surfaces.

On the next day yet again he came. “How many bricks have you got this time?” I bellowed. “Five? Look, aside from anything else it’s getting bothersome finding a place for all these bricks. Can’t you just punch me in the face and have done with it?” He threw just one brick through the door. “One again? What the hell kind of pattern is that? Is this some kind of IQ test? Why are you tormenting me like this? I don’t understand your logic!”

On the next day, he didn’t appear at all.

I waited for him all day, and… Nothing. Was that it? Four days of random damage? It wasn’t the damage that boiled my blood so much as it was being completely in the dark about his motives. I felt relieved that it was all over, but still deeply angry that this could happen, and cheated out of any explanation.

On the next day, I was in the back garden, having elected to try and forget about it all. At that same crucial time in the morning, I heard an all too familiar sound from the front of the house… The sound of a brick being thrown through a door. Suddenly, all of the dormant hatred that I had stored came bubbling to the surface and I snapped. I sprung into motion and bolted towards the front of the house, legs flailing, face contorting into a snarling beast, screaming “Why? Why? WHY?” And there he was. Before I could even gauge his reaction, I pounced on him. I wanted my answers, but more than that I wanted to kill him. … And I think I did.

So then today comes round, I am taken to the doctor, for some reason. But… I don’t know what happened next, I blacked out.

And here I am.