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How many ways are there to call a cunt a cunt? I think I found every single one of them last night. But we'll come to that in a moment. First, I did a gig in Taunton. Now, I don't think I've ever been to Taunton before, though it seems like a place I should've been. At the Brewhouse, there is a massive 150 plush seated theatre which hosts one of the best comedy nights in the South West once a month. I didn't perform on that night. I performed in a corridor just outside of the theatre.
I have no idea who reads this blog, or indeed, if anyone other than Google bots read it, but even they would know that corridors aren't the best places for comedy gigs. Especially the evening after the World Cup Final. I didn't know how to play the room, and I felt a little rusty because it had been more than a week since my last gig. My rhythm was off, my timing was non-existent, and I'm not even sure I had an ounce of presence. Don't get me wrong, I didn't die on my arse, nor did I storm it, but I came off stage more than disappointed with my performance, knowing given another chance, I could have done much better.
So, we come to where we began. A last minute trip to deepest, darkest Shropshire, to drive Ian Cognito to Andy Hobo's Up For Comedy gig in Bishop's Castle. It was a long old drive in the blazing sunshine, and I'm not sure it was worth it. Every other act booked had cancelled, so that left me and Ian, with Andy to MC. I was on first, and made some fundamental mistakes. I should have bought the half empty room to the front, and asked for the child screaming to be removed, but I didn't, I just blundered into my set. Dumb ass.
I lost my temper. Properly lost it. Which is something I am ashamed of, but the guy who was heckling was an objectionable fucknut. He was motivated by nothing other than pure spite, and you could see it in his eyes. Ordinarily a persistent heckler thinks they are helping, or voicing the unspoken opinion of the crowd, but this guy just wanted to measure his dick with the comedians. As Cogs said "You stood your ground lad, you should be proud." What I actually did was raise my voice and find a hundred and thirty seven different ways to call the man a cunt. Which was greatly appreciated by the audience, who clearly thought him one too, and most gratingly of all, made him smile appreciatively. When he did shut up and let me have some time to expand, I got some very big laughs, mostly from my Storm story.
Afterwards, Cogs told me off for one thing I shouldn't have done (in a lovely way), and said the things I should have done with the room layout weren't my job, but agreed I should have done them anyway. He also said he was gripping his table in anger, and wanted to punch the cunt in the face, so that was a little validating to know I wasn't totally overreacting. An altogether unsatisfying gig really, because given the time and space, I could have done very well. As it was, I got most of my laughs and applause (lots of applause) from laying into that man. Ultimately, what's the point of that?
The drive home was fun though, we played Desert Island Discs.
I have no idea who reads this blog, or indeed, if anyone other than Google bots read it, but even they would know that corridors aren't the best places for comedy gigs. Especially the evening after the World Cup Final. I didn't know how to play the room, and I felt a little rusty because it had been more than a week since my last gig. My rhythm was off, my timing was non-existent, and I'm not even sure I had an ounce of presence. Don't get me wrong, I didn't die on my arse, nor did I storm it, but I came off stage more than disappointed with my performance, knowing given another chance, I could have done much better.
So, we come to where we began. A last minute trip to deepest, darkest Shropshire, to drive Ian Cognito to Andy Hobo's Up For Comedy gig in Bishop's Castle. It was a long old drive in the blazing sunshine, and I'm not sure it was worth it. Every other act booked had cancelled, so that left me and Ian, with Andy to MC. I was on first, and made some fundamental mistakes. I should have bought the half empty room to the front, and asked for the child screaming to be removed, but I didn't, I just blundered into my set. Dumb ass.
I lost my temper. Properly lost it. Which is something I am ashamed of, but the guy who was heckling was an objectionable fucknut. He was motivated by nothing other than pure spite, and you could see it in his eyes. Ordinarily a persistent heckler thinks they are helping, or voicing the unspoken opinion of the crowd, but this guy just wanted to measure his dick with the comedians. As Cogs said "You stood your ground lad, you should be proud." What I actually did was raise my voice and find a hundred and thirty seven different ways to call the man a cunt. Which was greatly appreciated by the audience, who clearly thought him one too, and most gratingly of all, made him smile appreciatively. When he did shut up and let me have some time to expand, I got some very big laughs, mostly from my Storm story.
Afterwards, Cogs told me off for one thing I shouldn't have done (in a lovely way), and said the things I should have done with the room layout weren't my job, but agreed I should have done them anyway. He also said he was gripping his table in anger, and wanted to punch the cunt in the face, so that was a little validating to know I wasn't totally overreacting. An altogether unsatisfying gig really, because given the time and space, I could have done very well. As it was, I got most of my laughs and applause (lots of applause) from laying into that man. Ultimately, what's the point of that?
The drive home was fun though, we played Desert Island Discs.
