14/11/2014 12:13 GMT | Updated 14/01/2015 05:59 GMT

European Comedy Tour Journal, Day Eight: Paris

I am comedian Kai Humphries. Each autumn I tour throughout the UK with my fellow stand-up and flatmate Daniel Sloss. This year we also roll out the tour to Europe for the first time, visiting 18 major cities over 21 dates. To amuse myself whilst we travel between cities (and whilst Daniel snores) I am keeping a journal of our adventures in the style of a scientific journal where my study subject is Daniel and my role as his support act is merely a disguise to cover up my true objective which is to psycho-analyse his behaviour.

Day: Eight

Date: 3 November 2014

Destination: Paris (France)

Subject: Daniel Sloss


I am beyond alarmed that I woke up in my bed at the Hilton hotel to a 09:00 wake up call in preparation for our 10:30 pick up, allowing time for breakfast and ablutions. This situation shouldn't be alarming seeing as this was the plan all along, but my wonderment stems from how I could possibly have executed these plans. Peculiarly, my final memory of last night's mischief in Amsterdam was not that of climbing under the duvet after arranging a sensible waking hour with the concierge like my current situation suggests. The most recent memory I can bring to cognition at this point in the morning is in fact a one of me bidding a fumbled fairwell to my chums then rambling alone through the streets in a state of marvel following the queer patterns and lights generated by the mushrooms I ingested for supper. I recall one vague flashback of showing a stranger the pastel coloured lines flowing across my face in the bathroom mirror, and another of hiding under a table so as not to draw attention to myself while possessed by uncontrollable and inexplicable laughter, how on earth I negotiated a safe landing in such psychedelic turbulence has rendered me awestruck.

I've just enjoyed an exquisite cooked breakfast and while I'm sitting contemplating the whys and the hows of my respawning in a safe haven, the waitress approached me and asked if I'd like a warm apple turnover direct from the oven? Would I? I nodded happily to indicate my desire to receive the tasty snack, but to my bewilderment she nonchalantly placed the pastry onto my leftover breakfast. I just assumed this to be a custom and I'm sat mopping up egg yolk and beans with a sugary desert treat on a Monday morning, if this isn't the actions of a chronic stoner I don't know what is, nonetheless, a clichéd look I am more than happy to adopt in such a city as this.


I met my fresh faced subject in the lobby, Daniel had ended his evening ahead of my good self on the grounds that I had stopped making sense. When he laid eyes on me in the lobby he shot me a look that suggested we shared the astonishment towards my curious fortune, to which I replied "I know."


The only thing more annoying than an irritating child being rambunctious on a crowded train, is a child conducting himself in such a manner in French. There is something rather excruciating about hearing incomprehensible high pitched words produced from the back of someone else's throat when you are already of a nauseous disposition. During one particular tantrum from the minor Daniel made the astute observation that he didn't know it was possible to cry in a French accent until he witnessed it today, I had to concur. My main gripe was that the parents made no attempt to quell their offspring's exuberance, at least when Daniel has one of his outbursts on public transport under my jurisdiction I have the decency to shake my keys in his face.


We had two hours at our disposal once we arrived here in Paris so I suggested paying a visit to the Eiffel Tower, Daniel responded immediately with the suggestion that there is wifi in the hotel so he would just google it, and although he admitted that pixelated images didn't exactly offer the same impact, he quite rightly indicated that you can see an electricity pylon from the back bedroom of his house so he would just wait until he returned home to enjoy the experience. I hinted an undertone of sarcasm in his voice.

Instead of venturing out alone into the downpour of rain in pursuit of an overrated landmark I decided to sit down in the shower and cradle my knees until I was hungry.


I'm sat in the hotel lobby having a nightcap whilst watching my subject talking with his hands into a journalist's dictaphone. Tonight's gig went most favourably, it was our least attended show of the tour yet the crowd consisted of more British ex patriots than we've had in attendance at the remainder of our previous events put together. I don't think the French people care too much about learning the English language. I actually get the impression they don't favour the British very much at all. I initially developed this inclination upon working out that zebra crossings don't serve a purpose here despite being in abundance. When I spotted that motorists didn't care to acknowledge the pseudo-pedestrian crossings, I devised that they were merely in place to lure British tourists who have been conditioned by their traditional function into traffic in order to reduce our numbers.

Signing off...