When In Doubt Mention A Monkey

Hello

2009-11-07T12:39:00.002Z

If you're still subscribed to this blog after two and half years of inactivity, well done you.

However, this is going to be last post on it. I've been blogging elsewehere for a long time now, and I've finally begun gathering everything in one place on my own website:

Come and have a look.

Thanks

Where Am I?

2007-02-21T16:48:00.000Z

I'm starting to wonder where I am. A few gigs in the past weeks have clouded the issue somewhat, and I feel I'm caught between being a competent comedian, and being rubbish. My reflections on my gig at The Comedy Kav in Birmingham don't clarify matters. It has been many years since I was first there, doing one of my first ever gigs, and walking back in was an odd experience. It was considerably smaller than I remembered, but then I suppose rooms are an extension of your own apprehensions when you first start out. I went on and worked pretty damn hard for little or no real energetic reward, but I didn't feel hard done by, and didn't feel like I had done a bad job. Indeed, Mr Cook said afterwards that it had been one of the best supports he had seen there for a long while, which was flattering and unexpected. Apparently, the opener always meets with a subdued response. I hung around for the rest of the night, and the crowd began to get into it, and Ivan Brackenberry pretty much stormed it.

I went via the Reckless Moment again after that - losing all faith in the material I had prepared, and thus delivering instead a treatise on how not to write jokes to the crowd. This approach worked, but some of the stuff I thought would tank got some good responses, and I actually left regretting not having done it properly.

Then came my second weekend run at Jesters. Friday night I tanked, Saturday night was a delight. Therein lies my dilema. Why can I do so badly one night, so well the next? Admittedly I rushed through everything on Friday, had no confidence and wanted to be off stage as soon as I got on it - so obviously that was the huge mitigating factor. But come the next day, when my brain simply couldn't be bothered to stress about it anymore, I relaxed and did my own thing at my own pace. This is a lesson that I am finding hard to learn. I'm still very guilty of trying to go to a crowd, rather than bring them to me, and when I go to them, it smacks of desperation and they sense that as a lack of confidence. I went at my own pace at the Kav, in the face of apathy, and finished strongly as a result. I went at my own pace at Jester on Saturday, and everything worked like a charm.

Which leads me to conclude that I was guilty of trying to go to them last night in Nottingham. They seemed pretty energised and up for it, but I just didn't connect with them from the outset, though maybe I clawed back a little something, but very little, by the denouement. It was desperate I think.

So where am I? Shrug.

Reader, I Married Him

2007-01-30T00:19:00.000Z

Lord fuck a duck, it's been ages since I wrote anything here. I suspect the reason for this is because the gigs I have been doing have been going along steadily with not much to reflect upon - but more honestly, I've probably been watching too much Buffy. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to. That's a quote from A Few Good Men.

So, the gig at Atticus immediately lead to a paid support back in Birmingham next week, so that's all good. After that I found myself doing another Rant & Rave Improv spot at The Hatchet in Bristol. It was over a month ago, so forgive me if I'm a bit vague on the details, but I was given the topic of Boredom by the audience, which I thought was a Godsend. I cheated a bit, and began with some pre-written material that I hadn't performed more than twice before, which lead into an extended gob vomit about Star Trek and the other detritus that swamps my brain. All in all, good fun if I remember correctly.

Then either side of Christmas I had to gigs in similar venues but with outcomes at the opposite end of the spectrum. Somewhere in Hereford was a pub that had been stripped of all it's character in an effort to make it seem more friendly, the resultant abhorrence being an incredibly bland piece of chud. The compere was piss poor beyond comprehension, sucking all the energy out of the room within seconds of walking on stage. This left the support act, Mr John Robins, to drag it back up into something workable, which he did with admirable aplomb, leaving an audience laughing and wanting much much more. Then the compere went back on and sucked that all back out with an industrial Dyson. To be fair to the audience, they soon learned that they would enjoy the acts, if not the MC, and when I went on to a smattering of applause, they quickly woke up and gave me lots of energy. I was worried that the blue rinse lady in the front row would be offended by some of my stuff, but she laughed more than anyone, which was lovely. Then Mr Paul Kerensa closed the evening with great success.

And so to a similar pub, run by the same chain in fact, this time in Gloucester. I nearly cancelled my gig actually, as I had a full blown stomach bug, which meant I could hardly move, and all my body wanted to do was shut down. But by the time it got to the decision point, I was fed up with lying on the sofa with my eyes shut and groaning, so I stumbled into the car and somehow managed to make my way to Gloucester. I shouldn't have bothered.

I had more fun on a 400 mile round trip to Brighton and back though. Rabbit In The Headlights is an odd gig - it's in a nice pub theatre, and has an appreciative crowd, but it lacks verve. I did my time, felt a little off and rusty as it had been a fortnight between gigs, and talked through some new ideas to see where they could and couldn't work. Ideas which I then refined for an airing at The Reckless Moment, which is always my favourite gig. Made doubly so because Anna Keirle was there, and she is good company and an excellent act (plus she has a great new coat). The new stuff was fleshed out, and I re-aired a piece I wrote a few months back, which seemed to work nicely enough - and since I had indulged the audience with over ten minutes of brand new thoughts, I then told them a joke about a man with a massive orange for a head.

I got the bonus opportunity to try all the new stuff again, this time back at The Hatchet, and then we did some actual improv games to close the show. That's us all caught up, now go away.

Rocky-esque Violence

2006-12-14T00:57:00.000Z

I did a gig in Reading last week. Well, I say gig ... it didn't feel like I did a gig, it felt like I had a fight. Which I think I nearly did - at least in the sense of being physically beaten to a pulp. It was in a place called Lower Earley, in the blandest, most characterless pub I have been in for a very long time. It was encouraging to learn on arrival that it had just been refurbished in an effort to wash away its image as a violent hole. Also encouraging was the complete lack of anything announcing that comedy was to take place, with not even an arrangement of chairs and a microphone to suggest anything was about to happen.

Anyway, I went on, and was handed the cheapest microphone money can buy, which was plugged into the smallest amplifier that exists, turned up so loud all it did was squeal painfully. Not that it mattered, no-one was even listening. Most of my time was spent having football songs chanted at me - before I was finally handed another microphone that was wired into the pub's PA system, but meant I had to stand at the bar itself and talk to them. At which point, a fifty year old man stood behind me and made some hilarious gestures, much to the amusement of everyone. I turned to speak to him, he began chanting "Reading" at me, I said something else, and he came at me, eyes bulging, chest puffed, fists clenched. So I walked off, and had a tiny little cry to myself. Everyone else did ok after me, so I singlehandedly failed to do my job. Pat Gallagher ripped it, like he always does these days.

What I needed to get over that was a friendly audience, but one I would have to work hard for. Luckily, that's exactly what I got when I did the opening support at a halls gig in Bristol. I really had to keep at it to sustain the energy levels, as did everyone all night, but it was rewarding. Then came the world's longest, windiest, most rollercoaster like drive to Machynlleth in Wales. It was vertigo inducing how the roads flowed, but luckily Mr Hodgson was there to whinge hilariously about it all the way there and back. A three and half hour drive to meet an audience drenched in apathy. I suppose it was a reflection of my performance that they weren't energetic and up for it, so I can't blame them.

And now I've just returned home from a jaunt to Birmingham. All straight roads, and an incredibly enthusiastic audience waiting at Atticus. I've never been at a gig and thought, no, there's too many people here - but tonight there was. They were packed in, and incredibly close to the stage, but the PA was amazingly good, as was the lighting. I got quite nervous beforehand, convinced I would struggle, but that vanished the moment the microphone hit my hand. I said hello, and someone shouted, "stand up", which I half heartedly batted back with "I'm a comedian, only smaller, so let's have some fun," which got a huge response, and from then on in, it was fairly plain sailing. I was poised and confident, and it's not often I come off stage feeling I couldn't have done any better. But no better could I have done me thinks. I learnt though that one piece works much better with a lull before it - but I cut the lull out tonight because I had limited time. Learning to pace your set is much fun.

Personal Services

2006-11-29T23:46:00.000Z

Is it possible for a comedian to be too personal on stage? Can exploring his angst or inner most thoughts alienate an audience? Can she share just a little bit too much with a crowd? I've never really thought so, but it's something I have heard and discussed more than once in the past week.

For quite a long time now, my favourite comedians have been the ones you know much more about once they have left the stage than when they arrived on it. This can manifest itself in many different ways, and not simply a confessional. The one liners that betray a theme of character, the tone of material, or simply a revealing anecdote - these all add up to good comedy in my opinion. Yes, of course laughs are king, but it's much more fulfilling as an audient to receive more than just the equivalent of a drive by. Surely you want to know who shot you?

I think it's all about context too. You can't simply walk on stage and expunge everything in one emotive tirade - you need to saunter up to that kind of material sideways and almost gesture at it with your head, innocently, hoping the audience is looking at what you are drawing their attention too. My last four gigs seem to have explored this theme somewhat.

After I left you last, I had been doing Improv for students. The following night, I was once again at The Hatchet. This is my favourite place to air new material, it feels like my home base. I began with some older stuff, before moving into a lengthy bit about something very personal to me. Perhaps too personal, as I'm reluctant to air it again anytime soon - but it was well received, and it drew from me a performance I wasn't aware I was capable of. And a performance it was, even though I made much of it being "real". While the emotional reserves I drew from were real, I think it produced a convincing facade. I was aware of some sympathetic looks from passing exitors, even though I was feeling pretty good about the gig I had just done. From a laughter perspective, the new bit started very well, and maintained its pace - and I wasn't afraid of the silences - they added to the laughs. I blew it a little towards the end, which fell flat, mostly because I was squatting down and couldn't really be seen. Plus, from a writing perspective, the bit needs more of a narrative, as it doesn't lead to a satisfactory conclusion as it stands. So, until life presents me with an adequate denouement, it will sit on the shelf for a while.

I'll skip to the next pertinent gig now, which happens to be the following week at The Hatchet again. In the afternoon I had written another new piece, which I had no confidence in, and abandoned quick smart once on stage and it was dying. The reason it tanked was me having little or no faith in it - but the other things I tried around it worked nicely, and some familiar banter moments made the gig more worthwhile than it deserved to be.

Next day, I was in Leamington, determined to give the material a second airing, but worried I would bottle it again. I didn't, but I did a properly horrible job. It was competent, and was getting laughs, but I kept blowing lines and drawing attention to the bridging I was doing whilst trying to remember bits. I tried to pull it back with the material about my Gran, which mostly helped raise the levels again, but I unforgiveably forgot an important line. So, we come back to the theme of this post. Afterward, Mr Tom Binns had a chat with me about the set, and about the manner in which I handle Alzheimer's in it. He was mostly praiseworthy, but vocalised the thought that maybe that stuff was a bit too personal. Now, this is where we come to context. I've never had that kind of reaction before. I've had people come up and engage me in chat about The Long Goodbye (not the film), or even about my Dad's illness, but no-one has said it felt too much. And that's because I have always performed those bits after other lengthy material - and usually in a 20, not in a 10 when I have just tanked with some new stuff. So, to bastardise a phrase, context is king. As an aside, bits of the new bit worked very well, and I failed to do the more pertinent and personal concluding parts of it, so I have no idea what state this material is in.

So, I'm in a car on the way to Exeter with three other comedians, and the subject of being too personal comes up again - less than 24 hours later, and unprompted by me. I had nothing to add to the general chat, and listened happily at the thoughts being expressed. The consensus seemed to be that if it's too much, it might seem like a mental episode. Again, context I guess. If you come on so angry you have nowhere else to go, then yes, brain malfunction is a good conclusion. But what if you slowly build to that anger, hint at the underlying frustrations, remain calm - then surely, when you do "blow", the effect is more engaging (and possibly more menacing). Anyway, the gig was pointless. The audience didn't really care, and invested nothing of their own energy into it, so it was hard to summon up my own reserves. I felt like Buffy in the opening number to the musical episode, "Going Through The Motions".

Why not visit my MySpace page and read some more vomit?

I Donated My Voice To Children In Need

2006-11-18T01:49:00.000Z

I'm a bit all over the place at the moment, and what with my Dutch travels, my over whelming sense of doom, and it being quite late, I'm not sure what gigs I've actually done recently - so I'll chat about them as they occur to me. It seems quite a while since I did a conventional stand up gig, and the one that springs to mind is a spot I did at Bristol Student Union. It was a night of improv comedy, with a middle section of straight stand up, which I had the pleasure of doing. I always enjoy gigs in that room, and that night was no exception. Weirdly though, I felt I had to work for it, when perhaps I hadn't expected that. I also had an annoying habit of starting an aside thought and having an inability to conclude it. Which didn't bode well I seem to remember, because I was doing some actual Improv the next evening.

Yes, that's right. The Hatchet played host to something a bit different - a section in which the comedian was given their topic by the audience, and asked to chat about it for as long as they deemed fit. My hope for doing this was that it would inspire some material for the set. In the afternoon, in a run through, I had been given the subject of cardigans, and this had lead me to some thoughts on something that I will write up tomorrow and try and work into a bit. In the evening however, I was given the subject Rubber Bands, which didn't really go anywhere, and only harvested laughs towards the end of my time. Everyone else did an excellent job though, and I hope it's something we get to do again.

Then I was in Holland - no gigs happened there. Um. And tonight, yes, I remember, tonight I did my first stint as part of an improv group. We performed at another University Halls in Bristol, all in the aid of Terry Wogan. Students are certainly getting younger and even more annoying. We had no amplification, so I had to rely on my puny little chest cavity and much shouting - the result of which is no voice now. It was fun, and a very different skill than stand up, with its own set of rules - all of which I hope to discover slowly. It's quite hard to judge how well it went, but everyone seemed to be enjoying it, and we mustered some very big laughs, which is all important I guess.

Since I've been home, I've made the mistake of watching myself on DVD from a few weeks back. It wasn't as disconcerting as I expected, but I am now very aware of how much I move around on stage, and I know for sure this is going to be in my head next time I do it - which is not a good thing, because it's going to throw me. I've also been re-watching Comedian, which is one of my favourite documentaries, for obvious reasons, not least becasue Seinfeld is one of my idols. It always inspires me to write and gig more, but then I realise I don't have my own private jet to travel around in.

I Wanna Meet Shatner

2006-10-31T12:41:00.000Z

If a week is a long time in politics, it's certainly a bit of a hike in Stand Up Comedy. I did two very different gigs on Thursday and Monday, and completely misunderstood a booking I made which meant I didn't do a gig on Saturday as I expected. As I write this, I'm wondering how many times the word gig, or derivations thereof, appears in this rambling blog. At least four times I would imagine. Also, I often mistype imagine as imahine.

I think I'm prevaricating to avoid talking about Jesters on Thursday. So, deep breath. I died on my hole. A proper big time, spectacular death of a proportion I have not experienced in a very long time. I had no nerves before boarding the stage, and the crowd had been pretty good for the support act, Mr Adam Crow, but I still had a suspicion that I'd find it more of a struggle. It wasn't a self-fulfilment thing, they just hated me. Batman, got nothing. Except a heckle that Robin was a rodent not a bird - twunt. Beckham, got nothing. Plus I fumbled the punch by tripping over an important word. My new joke got feck all, but by then I knew it wouldn't, and threw it in only to walk myself through it once more. I could hear them blinking, but for some reason, I wasn't particularly phased.

So, here I was, on the verge of a lengthy six minute piece that requires rhythm and performance to hide its actual lack of proper jokes - facing an audience riddled with total apathy for me. Many full moons ago, I'd have cut my losses and legged it, but it's a bit that has worked now many times at this place, so I knew it was worth the effort. I fed them a line, which got devoured. I said "I nearly died a few weeks ago," knowing full well what the response would be, and sure enough, there it was, "You're dying now!" That was my cue to address the atmosphere. I said I was well aware of that fact, that we were still only halfway through, and that we should knuckle down and get through it together. There was immediately a marked change in the mood, they shifted and sat up a bit, many of them even cheered. From then on, they were with me, in the sense that I had given them permission to enjoy the failure, and I got a huge cheer and applause at a rant inside the storm story, which I must admit, I delivered very well. I left the stage to a good response, but all in all, though it was a nice recovery in its own way, I'd rather have had a really easy gig.

Yesterday, I had the opposite experience at The Reckless Moment in Leamington Spa. I love the Moment, and I love Tom Hughes who runs it - he's turning into an excellent compere, and has some great, funny, original and quirky material. If anything, the gig was too easy, and I didn't have to work for it, but it's just what I needed after my heart attack at Jesters. I cheated a bit, because it's a new act, new material night, but I did most of my set, with only a minute or two of new material - and even then, that was it's fourth or fifth outing. That said, the new joke about being pregnant got my biggest laugh of the set. I had an odd moment at the beginning, where I was very aware of my feet. I could feel myself minutely shifting on the spot as I spoke, and as I felt myself doing it, it was like my mouth was on auto pilot - it didn't last long and I came out of it and back into the room pretty quickly, but it would explain why that bit of the performance was comparatively flatly received. After that, it was a breeze.

Just a reminder that I do have another blog, one that talks about my writing and other crap on MySpace.

Grinned And Bore It

2006-10-25T23:13:00.000Z

I don't really know why I write this blog. I suppose it's a useful way to analyse a gig after the event, pick it apart, see what I've learnt, that sort of thing, but there really is no reason for me to make it public. Narcissism I guess. When I first started it, ages ago, I think I thought it would be something I'd have liked to read when I started doing comedy, just to get an idea of what it's like - but it seems to have degenerated into a list of gigs, some good, some poor, most average. I guess that's why it's called an average.

So, I've been doing a few new material nights this week, in an effort to break in some new material. This is very clever reasoning on my part. But honestly, I just need to get out of the house. Last week, I did the Grin And Bear It again. The place was ram packed with people, only seven of whom wanted to watch the comedy. The rest were students who were gathered for their sports society social event. This meant the noise was unbearable, but Mr Nik Hill went on first and worked his socks off. He did an excellent job of making the audience feel like an audience, and managed to get them laughing and enjoying themselves in spite of the circumstances. At the interval, most of the pub left, leaving just the people there for the comedy, which meant I lucked out. I went on and had a lot of fun, in spite of the annoying man who kept talking to me at inopportune moments. I aired the new bits from the Hatchet the previous week, and they mostly worked, especially the one joke I want to become part of my regular set.

At the start of this week, I wandered across the bridge to Cardiff, where, as is tradition on any trip to Wales, it snorted it down with rain on me. The gig was at The Social, a massive room that could easily hold two hundred people, but played host to only twenty. And eight of them left during the act before me. I ostensibly headlined, but I used the gig to continue bedding in the new material, and it seems to be starting to slip nicely into the rhythm of my usual stuff, which is encouraging.

Then I thought it was about time I wrote about some of the things that are really playing on my mind, in a kind of cathartic expulsion of self-analysis. So I sat down and brainstormed the ideas out, then later in the evening I began to shape it into some coherent material. It's quite personal and perhaps too maudlin in its present state, but I was eager to try it out. That's why I went to another Grin And Bear It. I kind of wish I hadn't now. It really wasn't the gig to break this stuff in - the audience were lovely and really keen to join in, but it was to the detriment of the pacing and tone of the bit. On the plus side, it's had one airing, I've said it all out loud in pretty much the right order, and it still got laughs and reactions from the wrong kind of crowd. So, I'm hoping I'll catch a few minutes at The Hatchet on Sunday to give it another go. Otherwise it's Jesters tomorrow with tried and tested stuff, and Leamington Spa on Monday with the slightly older newer material. That sentence makes sense in my head.

Belly Aching

2006-10-09T10:31:00.000Z

Three gigs of a similar ilk, but each with a different outcome to talk about today. The first was Grin And Bear It, in the White Bear on St Michael's Hill in Bristol. I didn't do a very good job at all. The mic was too quiet, and I could easily have turned up the volume of my voice, or the volume on the mixing desk, which I was stood right next to. I went on first, to an audience of Freshers who seemed more interested in texting their mates about a party they were having later - and to be honest, I couldn't be bothered with them. Met some nice new people who were performing there though.

The next night, I went down to Barnstaple with Phill Brown, who was fun company in the car. The venue was rough as you like, but had a strange gig like feel to it immediately. It's run by the lovely Mr Paul Tregaskis, who he is keen to get nights up and running across the South West, which can only be good news. The audience seemed to have no interest in moving towards the front, so we had to play all the way down to the back of the long room - though Phill did do an excellent job of cajoling some of them forward. As I waited to go on, seeing that all the laughs were coming from either strong one liners, or slightly confrontational banter, I felt like they certainly wouldn't go with my rambling material. I couldn't have been more wrong, because I had their attention, and enjoyment throughout, and I did a little longer than I had planned. I left Barnstaple happy I had made the trip.

And then, last night, I made a return to the wonderful Gagging For It at The Hatchet in Bristol. I always enjoy this gig, even if I only go down to watch. It's great seeing a massive cross section of brand new comedians, and really established and excellent acts, all reduced to a level playing field, and all thoroughly enjoying themselves. Phill has started to run the night now, and he's a really good compere - his style suits the ambience that works best there. I also got to catch up with the wonderful Mr Tom Hughes, and the equally great Mr Owen Niblock. There seemed to be a new influx of audience, so I bookended some new ideas with some more travelled material. The new stuff went okay, and the one joke I really wanted to work got my biggest laugh of the evening, so that was pleasing. I didn't quite feel like myself on stage, but I put this down to having a massive belly from too much food. Never eat a huge meal before a gig, I know this to be true, yet on a Sunday, I ignore it.

Bleak House

2006-10-01T14:59:00.000Z

I'm going to talk about two gigs today, the first in Derby, the second in Wivenhoe. They share some similar traits, not least being that they were situated in two very bleak places. Apologies to anyone from Derby, but the city centre is a horrible place - it's just roads. Nothing else. One giant sprawl of tarmacadam, stacked up in layers, so as you walk along one roadside, you look down to see even more road. If Derby ever undergoes some urban redevelopment, folk from now will be able to muse about how it all used to be roads.

And so to the gig. It went. That's about as much as one could say. To be honest, the compere did a woefully poor job of warming up the audience, and consequently, the lovely Mr Tom Bell walked on stage to a very frigid atmosphere. And man alive did he try hard, but the damage had already been done, as it wasn't his job to warm them up. I went on after the break with huge contempt for the evening, so whether or not this showed I don't know. That said, from my opening line, they were awake and laughing, though they began to lose interest towards the end of my storm story. Thus, I decided not to let the atmosphere peter out, and left the stage just a few minutes early, because I thought if I was going to lose them , it would be best not to lose them on material about mortality and Alzheimer's, and bring the atmosphere crashing back down. In my mind, this was the right decision, but others may disagree.

Much like Derby, Wivenhoe Town Football Club was a particularly dreary place (sorry guys), which wonderfully housed a very lovely gig and a very lovely audience. The "complex", housing football pitch, stands and a clubhouse has fallen into a bit of disrepair, and it's dilapidation matched my bleak mood when I arrived. The toilets were ostensibly two corrugated iron sheets wrapped around a trench in the ground. Not nice. But the gig was, as was the organiser. Unlike Derby, the compere did an excellent job at the top, and I came on first to an up for it audience. Conversely though, they really didn't take to me from the start, and my short bits at the top got nothing at first. I can't explain this, because they soon began to buy it all, and the storm story worked a treat, before I went into the stuff about my Gran. This didn't get a great response, but I had their full attention, which was gratifying. I left the stage to some big applause, which I hadn't expected, and I got some excellent and positive feedback from the other acts, the audience and the promoter.

Nurofen

2006-08-31T10:41:00.000Z

I'm writing this with a seering headache. Although, that's not correct. I'm writing this with a keyboard and a PC. I'll rephrase. As I write this, I have a seering headache. In much the same way as I performed whilst nursing a seering headache at my gig in Winchester. It had been a mostly pleasant day up to about four minutes before I went on stage. The drive down was nice and easy, I met Mr Deian Vincent when I arrived, and we chatted and had fun. The room was nice, the audience were keen, and I was in the mood for a good gig.

But as I sat waiting to go on, a huge pain surged through my eyeball and inside my head. In fact, it was uncomfortably bad. The drive home was almost unbearable. So, going on stage and looking into four (seemingly) bright spotlights may not have been the best antidote. I did well enough though. The lead was wrapped around the microphone stand, which always makes me feel like a complete amateur when I have to untwirl it. Headline acts never seem to have that problem, or if they do, they cover it so well I never notice. I explained my aching head, but they didn't seem to care, so I cracked on with the material. Everything worked, nothing bombed. As I finished, I was very aware that I was forgetting my final choice of bit, but it only occurred to me after I left what it was I'd omitted. As a consequence, I ended with an anti-climax, instead of a nice laugh. Never mind.

(Insert Title Here)

2006-08-25T22:50:00.000Z

Just the one gig I want to talk about this time. It was called Tall Stories and Telling Tales, and took place in a cosy little basement room of the Essex Serpent in Covent Garden. The idea of the evening, run and hosted by Sarah Bennetto, is to have a little bit more time and space to tell stories, usually in the structure of long form stand up, but not necessarily so. Advertised as a spoken word evening, rather than stand up comedy, the cute space filled up nicely with very attentive people.

I cheated a little bit, in that I told stories that already form part of my stand up set, but interspersed them with the odd anecdote that hadn't been prepared, or a snippet from an old blog. See, these things do come in useful. Anyway, given plenty of time and space, the stories were a joy to perform, and I really loved it - so much so, I went back again this week, just to watch.

A Weekend At Bernie's

2006-08-13T21:03:00.000Z

Well, not Bernie's, but Jesters. I'm not sure there's a club called Bernie's, and if there was, it would probably be hosted by some guy with his feet rammed through the back of a yellow ostrich. Yes, so, I have just done my first weekend booking, for Jesters, as I said. It provided a very steep learning curve.

I'm not entirely sure why, but my apprehension had been growing all week, and as I left for the gig on Friday night, I was more nervous than I have been since my first ever open spot. That may not be completely true, but it was the most aware I've been of those nerves for a very long time anyway. Having arrived at the venue, I was surprised to see it was pretty full, which for August, in my head, is amazing. A slight calm descended upon me just before I was introduced, my brain probably remembering that I've done this gig many times before, albeit not on a Friday. I struggled. I rushed. I stumbled. I tensed up. But I didn't die. Very far from it. I gave a good account of myself, and got some very constructive feedback from the other acts afterwards. It was very strange, my eyeline seemed very high, and it felt like I was looking up and it was constricting my windpipe slightly. I came off stage very out of breath, having put a lot of energy into the performance of Storm.

So, on Saturday, I was much more calm, much more confident. I had proved to myself that I could play the room on a Friday night, mostly with success. As a result, the gig was a delight. A slightly smaller crowd, but I seemed to have much more command over myself, my material, and them as an audience. Everything seemed to work a charm. The Batman stuff, which someone had expressed reservations about as an opener, did the great job it can do, when I get it right. The same person said, "Batman worked great, shows what I know!" So I felt a little vindicated about that. I even worked in a new line at the end of the bit, based on a chat with Mr Martin Beaumont. I was most pleased that the second time round, I stuck to my guns, knowing that the response on Friday was below par, so to speak. I had rhythm. I had pace. I had a great gig.

A trip to London beckons this week. I haven't done a gig in the smoke for a couple of years now. I'm really excited.

Empty

2006-07-17T11:23:00.000Z

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.

Three Lions Whimper

2006-07-01T00:08:00.000Z

It happened again. Someone came up to me and started talking to me about death and Alzheimer's. I really don't know if this is a good thing or not, but I suppose, if material is resonating with people, than can only be positive. They also told me quite a touching story which will inform a scene in a sitcom script I am writing, so that was nice. That gig was in Paignton, the night of the England match against Ecuador. This meant drunk tits in England shirts, and an audience outnumbered two to one by St George's flags. Disgustipating.

Before that I sauntered up to Leamington Spa for the end of term Reckless Moment. Josie Long did her Edinburgh preview, and it was nothing short of amazing. The whole night was really good fun, and it restored my faith in live comedy once again.

I've spent the last week in a basement editing a sketch show together for Resonance FM. Read more here. Also got a paid weekend at Jesters in August. Always good.

Kownsulling

2006-06-14T22:11:00.000Z

After my gig in Tewkesbury tonight, a young man came up to me and said, "I just wanted to say thanks - my Gran died last night, and it was nice to be able to laugh about it." I didn't know what to say to that, but this sort of thing is happening more often now. If it's not someone saying something about a bereavement, it's someone saying something about a relative with a degenerative disease. I just mumble something in embarrassed response, and hope that doesn't seem like I'm being aloof. Maybe I should consider how to deal with it in the future.

Anyway, the gig was okay. It was certainly my best performance in a while - it was nice that the weather was much cooler, and an audience arrived ready to be entertained. One annoying woman kept "whispering" in her friend's ear, though she was too drunk to realise she was being very loud and very disruptive, but nothing too bad. I just need more gigs really.

It's Too Hot For Comedy

2006-06-09T23:36:00.000Z

The World Cup has started, the weather is nice and the days are getting longer. None of these things are conducive to comedy - as evidenced by the paltry crowd that wandered into Jesters last night. Hardly anyone came along, and quite frankly, I don't blame them. Sitting upstairs in the sweltering heat waiting to go on made me less inclined to be there, so who knows what was going through their heads.

I did a job. Nothing spectacular, nothing awful, not the best gig I've done there, nor the worse. Um, what did I learn? I didn't sell my opening with enough conviction, I think partly because confidence is an inverse square of the amount of gigs you have done in any given short space of time. Or is it a square? I dunno really. Either way, I took my time bringing them onside, and the whole set suffered as a result. Mr Duncan Oakley said nice things about my stuff, and was bewildered why it didn't get more than it did. But I'm not, I just didn't sell it to them quick enough.

And more of this twaddle can be found on MySpace.

F.A.T.T.S

2006-06-06T22:21:00.000Z

I've just proved to myself, once and for all, that when I have a bad gig, it's always MY fault. That may contradict some of my earlier posts, but I can't remember what I've been writing. It's a notion I should know, and never forget. Here's how it is:

(Hee hee, that's a vague Firefly reference, and it amuses me)

Anyway. The gig was in Cheltenham, which is nice because it's fairly nearby, and means a short enough drive. The venue was bloody awful - completely inconducive to comedy. Three storey high ceilings, no lighting, free to get in, no advertising and the acoustics of a leisure centre. It didn't help that the compere kept shouting at people (who hadn't been there for comedy anyway) to shut up. The first act struggled very much. Then the compere convinced everyone to go upstairs in the break, to a smaller room, with better acoustics - and they all did. Every one of them. With a smile on their faces.

Then, when the comedy resumed, with the microphone still screaming huge howls of feedback, a now mic-free compere managed to whip them up into a gleeful frenzy. After all of that, they were completely up for some comedy. I went on, and made my mistake. I was cheeky and happy - which got a nice response, and some laughs from off the cuff introductory banter. But it meant that I had to keep up this tone all the way through my material - and my material at the moment doesn't suit that kind of tone. I was too wary of changing it too, so the stuff went vaguely okay, but would have been better had I been strong enough to correct my mistake. I was not.

I'm keeping a different blog here now as well.

Vomit

2006-05-16T14:03:00.000Z

Bournemouth was cancelled. Luckily the blow was softened by the fact I was slap bang in the middle of purchasing Serenity and That Mitchell & Webb Situation when I was told. Serenity is excellent, and Mitchell & Webb made me laugh a lot more than I expected. Unfortunately, the cancellation came on the heels of a horrible gig in Reading. I don't think I have ever blamed anyone other than myself for a bad gig, but in this case, I am totally justified in calling the audience a complete and utter bunch of apathetic twunts.

So what else has happened gig wise? Not a lot really. I've been going along steadily, doing more and more support 20s, all of which have been pretty much successful. Much positive feedback has been coming my way, which makes it annoying that my diary is looking pretty bare at the moment. Usually I use gigs to take my mind off of the bad things in my life, but come the summer months, when comedy goes out to play in the sun, that won't be possible. So, here I am, blundering head first towards a trying couple of months in my personal life, with no distraction other than Big Fucking Brother. Not even the cricket, because that Aussie Mogul Twat Bastard (TM) has stolen the wickets. In preparation, I am trying to line up as much writing work as possible, in the vain hope that it will be enough to keep me busy and my mind occupied.

That means, I am writing three scripts - two for Comedy Lab, and one for a Perrier Award winning comedian; planning two sketch show ideas, one of which I will be writing pretty much all on my lonesome; and pummelling away at some stand up material that has been buzzing around my brain for a while now. Will that be enough? Who knows.

Lying On Bench was broadcast on Resonance FM at the start of this month, and will be repeated sometime in June. I do know the exact dates, but they've slipped my mind for the time being. I have a MySpace up and running here, if that sort of thing rocks your world.

Oh, and I got a fucking parking ticket, for parking somewhere for less than five minutes.

We're Not Those Kids, Sitting On The Couch

2006-04-25T13:56:00.000Z

I've figured out what makes me like a comedian more than normal. Anyone who leaves a little piece of themselves on stage, they'll get my vote anytime. It's always really nice to watch someone talk about something that can only be coming out of their mouth - not generic stuff (and by that, I don't mean hack). Also, it's really gratifying watching the comedians coming out of Bristol at the moment - they're all really good, and it's pleasing that everyone seems to be stepping up to the level they should be at.

I seem to have been doing gig after gig recently. Rather than exploring them in any kind of chronological order, I'll just blindly jabber on about whatever springs to mind. I've compered at The Hatchet twice in a fortnight. The first time was shambolic, the second time was a stroll, if only because there were so many acts to get through, which meant I didn't have to fill time at all.

Then there was a last minute call to do a spot at Jesters, which I snapped at because of the fun I had the last time I was there. It went well, and I even tried out some more challenging material. That went okay, but would have gone better had I not used the segue I chose.

And I've also been doing a number of paid twenty spots recently. It's a new art to me, and one which I am enjoying learning about. There's space to breath, and silences to surf, and pacing to consider - all of which can only be learnt by doing it. The Hilarity House in Kidderminster was a fun gig, if a little odd for various reasons, but I did a fairly good job. The Courtyard Comedy Club in Hereford was an amazing venue, which I coped with much better than I thought I would. Not sure I sold them on my brand of material though, but I did an awful lot better than I would have done even three months ago.

And then The Reckless Moment in Leamington Spa - the inaugural night - which was a wonderful new venue. It's run by my friend Tom Hughes, who has poured all his love into it - and for the type of night it is, he got a phenomenal crowd in. I had a shambolic twenty minutes of fun, and heard nothing but nice feedback afterwards. Plus, I also got to thank Gary Delaney for his input by showing him the laughs it's garnered.

That's not all - I have some more good gigs on the horizon in Bournemouth, Reading, Cardiff and Plymouth, so I'm going to be dead from the travel, but hopefully a better comic because of it.

The Stomach For It

2006-03-31T13:50:00.000Z

I scared another comedian into wanting to get better. That's a proud moment in my life. And I'm not telling you who either, just someone I respect and admire for their funny bones. On top of that, Mr Gary Delaney, one of the nicest people I've ever met on my comedic travels, sent me a text describing my set as "impressive stuff". So what better way to open a post with some unashamed bragging?

Right, first up came a gig at Pitville Campus in Gloucester. Oddly enough, the line up featured exactly the same faces as my previous Gloucester jaunt a few weeks ago. The support did a much better job for the eager students, and I went on after the break. I had been feeling odd all night, the reason for which became apparent on my journey home, but I was more focused on the gig at the time. Nerves were jangling in my brain because I had decided that if I could talk about my Gran to a room full of students, and make it work, I can make it work anywhere. Consequently, I blew my opening gambits, partly because the crowd still hadn't settled, but mostly because I was too eager to get to the meaty stuff. When I did get there, it was well received, but rather than talking to them, I performed it, and as a result it lost a lot of its heart.

I'm loathe to read too much into my performance that night because on the way home, it became readily apparent that I had Gastric Flu. Or more precisely, the officially named Winter Vomiting Disease. That's far too twee and doesn't do it any justice. I wasn't coughing up snowflakes. You might just as well call it the Magical Illness of Narnia. I'm still recovering from it now to be honest.

Luckily, I'd got over the worst of it by the time of my next gig in Cardiff. This was for Sian Perry, and was in a Hawaiian Bar (which served Chinese food). The free buffet had settled everyone down, though the smell from it made my delicate stomach a tad billious. Did the same set, and struggled at the start because I was playing to the wrong part of the room, confusing the main body of the audience. And again I over performed the stuff about my Gran, learning a valuable lesson that this stuff should just be conversational, not performance.

That's the lesson I took to the subsequent gig in Bristol. The Lansdown was mostly empty, and was hard work. For such a timid audience, I managed not to fall into the trap of drawing attention to how quiet they were, and battled through my set. The bits about my Gran had a much greater resonance, personally, and hopefully for the audience too, because I just told them it instead. I also added another story which I was worried would just be depressing and not funny ... but it was. Very.

That's when Mr Delaney asked if he could give me some notes about my performance - which was wonderful. He didn't just say well done, he actually had constructive comments too. I won't recite what he said word for word, but it made me feel proud of my set in a way I never have before. He also pointed out some extra flavours I could add to the funnies without losing the tone of the piece. I'm starting to feel like the comedian I've always wanted to be.

The meetings were all pretty much a waste of time - except BBC Bristol. And still no news on the broadcast date for Resonance.

Bacchus

2006-03-19T12:14:00.000Z

My Gran died at the start of last week. I chose to commemorate her by devoting my entire set to her at my next gig. Whether or not this was the right thing to do from an emotional or decency perspective, I don't know - but it does seem to be the way I can work through things in a healthy manner these days. It also informs my set and performance with an emotional resonance that it has always been lacking. I did a good gig, and it's quite telling that a few people approached me and told me it was the best they had seen me by a long way. Personally I felt it wasn't my best performance, but the material did seem right somehow. I'll have another chance to do it some justice in Gloucester soon, and again in Cardiff. We'll see.

I also find myself in the middle of a spate of meetings at the moment. The other day I was at BBC Radio Bristol hocking my wares, tomorrow I am in London at Channel X, and the day after I'm meeting someone at South West Screen. The show for Resonance FM is transmitting soon, but I don't yet know what date.

Pollywaffle

2006-03-09T16:12:00.000Z

If you get the chance to spend an afternoon in a professionally equipped sound studio, with two talented performers, take it my friends. Jon and iszi did some sterling work when we recorded Lying On A Bench. I might put a page together on my website about the process, as well as a link to the show itself, after it's aired on Resonance FM. But then again, I might be too busy.

Apparently it's been nearly two years since I last played the Guildhall in Gloucester for Mr Nik Hill, but I'm sure I've been there once or twice to watch since. The crowd were quite subdued, and I thought my performance may have been too energetic, but Nik told me it was just what the show needed, and used the phrase "confident and powerful" in his review of me on Chortle, which was nice to read. It went pretty well, not nearly as good as Jesters, but good nonetheless. Blew a few lines from sheer incompetence, but it was enjoyable.

I'm lining up meetings with lots of people regards sketch show ideas, which seems all very grown up for me. I've also been watching Russell Howard and Mark Olver put together their Edinburgh shows at the Alma Tavern this week. It's fun to be part of that process. The room is great, and I am tempted to hire it myself in order to force me to write a lot more material. We'll see.

Who Kneads A Spell Cheque Faculty?

2006-02-26T12:27:00.000Z

Every so often, you do a gig that goes so well, it actually depresses you. Somewhere in your mind you know that it's going to be a while before you manage a performance like that again. You know that it's going to be an elusive journey to discover just why it went so well, and that makes it all the more frustrating.

Jesters in Bristol has for a long time, in my mind, been a bit of a bogey gig. But over the past year, each time I have been inside, it seemed to be shrinking in size, and stature. Nonetheless, I was pretty nervous when I arrived, and feared that once again, I would be sub-standard there. But I began chatting with Nick Revell who turned out to be a fascinating, honest, and wholly likeable man.

I was beginning to relax, but a chance comment to me by someone just reminded me once more of my jitters. Oddly though, as I waited in the corner, ready to go on, a calm descended upon me - I noted that this wasn't anywhere near the biggest or even unfriendliest crowd I had stood before, and it most certainly wasn't the most important gig I had done in a long time. So I waddled onto the stage and just began. Everything went well. Gags and asides that had long slipped my mind as to their strength, reared their laughing heads, and one man in the audience didn't stop to breathe for my whole set. I felt like a proper comedian, with a big performance of honest material.

The sofa upstairs was very comfy, and I just lounged on it for the rest of the evening, trying not to over analyze things, but I did nonetheless. The chat with Mr Revell continued, and he helped me clarify some of my thoughts on writing. It's not often I get the chance to sit and discourse with other professional writers about the craft itself (rather than writing I mean), so hopefully I didn't make an arse of myself.

On the writing front, I've finished the first draft of a pilot script for RSA, and I am determined to make the two Radio Four projects I've had on the back burner spark themselves back into life. A part of me also wants to conjure up a new idea for a more peak time evening sitcom slot, so I'll tease it from my brain slowly over the next few days. And I think we will be recording the Resonance thing this week.

What Do I Do Whilst Writing An Entry?

2006-02-21T02:21:00.000Z

Well, as I begin typing this, I am enjoying the start of another episode of The Listening Club on Resonance FM. I particularly laughed at the line "I could pour water on a hard drive," and the sound of sandwich eating. I can't wait to get my own short Clear Spot recorded. The rehearsal for it went quite well, but we'll need another one, mainly because I am not the greatest voice artist in the world.

I did 15 at a gig in Cheltenham. It was in the practice hall of a private school, one of the most opulent places I have ever been that professed to be a modern educational establishment. That said, it paled into insignificance along side the sheer majesty that is Oxford. But that's irrelevant really. An attentive audience, and I wasn't sure how subdued they would be, which affected my first few minutes (as well as getting the level right on my mic distances). The middle and end went much better, and I even took a chance to try some new material again.

It's something I debuted in Leicester at the Comedy Festival. Honestly, it didn't go so well there, but then none of my set did that night. But having run through it once, it went better in Cheltenham, and even more so a few nights later in Weston Super Mare.

If I take a step back and appraise my twenty set now, I can honestly say I much prefer the second half, but I'm still reliant (confidence wise) on the first half to get me ready for part two. I think the reason for this preference is that the second half seems much more personal, and not stuff that could conceivably be spouting from another comedian (albeit only faintly). Hopefully I'll be able to write some material for the first half that will make it seem better in my head, that way it won't affect the performance of part one - which it may be in danger of doing, unless I keep an eye on it.

I emailed Armando Iannucci this week.

He hasn't replied.

Sometimes Title Creation Alludes Me

2006-02-09T17:01:00.000Z

There's something about new material which perplexes me. When you write it, you always have huge confidence in it, but as the minutes tick by and you stumble towards the gig where you intend to debut it, that confidence slowly ebbs away, and ultimately hinders that initial airing. I suppose it's wonderful to have a regular gig which provides the opportunity to turn over material so readily, but because it's a regular gig with regular audiences, you can't sandwich it all between tried and tested things. Thus gauging how good it is becomes harder. If I'm honest, last Sunday I didn't prepare enough before hand, but I'm not honest.

On Tuesday I was at Clifton Comedy to see Mr Jon Richardson prove that he is one of the best acts on the circuit right now. He's certainly infinitely better than he should be for someone so comedically young. That's why I'm using him in my Resonance show. So there.

The trip from Bristol to Sheffield and back is long. So very long. But it was worth it. I was supporting Wil Hodgson at the Caper Comedy Club in Takapuna on West Street. They've just gone weekly from being monthly, so the audience was a bit diminished, and aside from the three chatty twunts, were lovely. The twunts, it turns out, were organised hooligans who regularly break things, so in retrospect it was probably a mistake to keep calling them Fucknuts. They left in the interval though. Doing 20s is lovely. You get breathing space, and have the chance to really build momentum, which does nothing but help my Storm story.

Things'll Brighton Up

2006-02-01T15:38:00.000Z

When you're looking at the East Indian architecture of the Pavillions in Brighton, you don't expect to be looking through heavy falling snow. It was very bizarre, and very cold. As was the Marlborough Theatre itself, where I was for the Rabbit In The Headlights. It's a theatre style room above a pub, grotty, but with loads of character. And not so much heating.

I went on first, and was lucky enough to be granted a bit longer. So I thought it pertinent to use that extra time wisely. This manifested itself in a performance I was pleased with, although it does mark the last outing of the finale of my newest piece of material. That will now be replaced with something more upbeat, after a discussion in the car on the way home, driving through what had now become sludgy sleet. Some London act went well over their time, and did some drudge and cliched nonsense which had the rhythm of comedy, but none of the nuance or originality they clearly thought it contained. I'm such a bitch.

Anyway, I had a chance to try the replacement ending a few nights later at a gig in Whitchurch on the outskirts of Bristol. As I arrived, I was very apprehensive, mainly because it reminded me of a gig I did once in a pub with much the same ambience to it. But Mr Gaz Mackin did an excellent job of turning it into a proper gig, and I went on with a support 20, which was hard work, but very well received. Even the new ending (actually, a very old bit which fits perfectly) felt like it had now found a home. So, now I have a long trek up to Sheffield to look forward to, in order to do another support slot.

Then I found myself in the centre of London, sitting in the offices of Ridley Scott's production company, in a meeting with Normski of all people. He's a fascinating, funny and wholly entertaining guy, and I'm excited by the project. I am very aware that sounds all luvvie, but quite frankly, I don't care.

Mr Daniel Kitson did a surprise gig in Bristol last night, following his late night stint on Resonance FM. He was awesome, whimsical and thought-provoking all at the same time. And do listen to his Listening Club, it's excellent. And as for Resonance, I am making a show for their Clear Spot, so I'm sure I'll be bigging that massiveness up when it's about to air.

Havana Laff

2006-01-17T15:23:00.000Z

Do you see what I did there with the title? Havana Laff? Having A Laugh? This is why I think I have Asperger Syndrome. Which by the way, is an Autism Spectrum Disorder, and one which you can learn more about here. It's one of those things that has a list of symptoms which when read seem extremely pertinent to the current consumer of said list. But in my tiny mind, it reads like a Who's Who of Comedians and their material.

Anyway, I'm wittering on about spectrum disorders because I'm not sure I want to analyse the gig I did on Sunday night. It was for Mirth Control, in Exeter, at the Havana Bar. So, what to say? There were people there. I don't think they could hear very well, because the acoustics in the room were a big shivering bag of piffle. The only way to compensate for that is to speak much more clearly, but then that starts to feel odd in your gob, and you quickly end up back in your old rhythm. There's really nothing else I want to add to that.

If you haven't already discovered it, why not have a listen to Daniel Kitson's Listening Club on Resonance FM which is a beautiful way to spend the early hours of Tuesday mornings (late night Mondays). He's captured the atmosphere of the show he did in Edinburgh perfectly.

Showers Of Shite

2005-12-15T11:03:00.000Z

It's hard to know where to start today. I feel like I have something to say about my gig last night, I'm just not sure what. Maybe starting with the basics will help. It was in Coventry, and I travelled up with iszi Lawrence and Jon Richardson, who are both lovely company. The drive was uneventful. I'd been to the Earlsdon Cottage before, but they had not. That's no excuse for me getting lost though.

Anyway, I feel that this is going to become another moan about audiences. Or more specifically, areas of audience that have come along to support their friend doing an open spot. This seemed to upset the dynamic of the room, because the regulars were on one side enjoying themselves, while the supporters were on the other, generally just being a bit rude. One man in particular felt the need to whisper loudly to his friend every time he didn't understand why a comedian wasn't saying stuff he found funny. The reason, it turned out, he didn't find this stuff funny, was because he was a racist, as evident by his two entries in the joke competition. Then the open spot came on, did many many minutes of other people's material, and got little or no response, even from his friends. After that, they got a lot more accepting of the other acts.

Unfairly, I reaped the most benefit from this. Having to directly follow him, it seemed like the audience really just wanted a beer break, but we didn't have one, so I had to compete with a few trips to the bar, which isn't always easy to deal with. But they seemed to go with everything a lot more readily than they had previously, which was in no way down to me. It was simply the fact they had seen their mate do his stuff. Not well.

So, what did I learn? I learnt that people in matching denim outfits and Beatles haircuts are annoying, but laugh when you cheekily intimate you're going to piss all over their stupid head. I learnt that ad libbing during a new bit can reap some lovely new laughs. I learnt that there are some audiences you just don't care one jot about how much they enjoyed your set.

What A Big Bastard Bunch

2005-12-05T12:45:00.000Z

Is it wrong to be rude to people from behind a microphone? Not cheeky, with a knowing wink, but just downright rude? Ordinarily, I would think so, but every now and again, you are faced with people who clearly have no manners. Last night, a whole table of persistent talkers (not whisperers), who were there to watch their friend do his second gig, just would not shut up. It was beguiling.

In fact, I don't think I have ever left the stage feeling so irked, disappointed, or despondant. It's frustrating because you know they are talking because they don't feel the acts they are watching deserve their attention, basically because they cannot hear the other audience members laughing. Trouble is, as a comedian, you feel you have to deal with such behaviour, and so, instead of getting the momentum from your material you know works, you're focusing on them. It's a vicious circle. Most of the audience are there to watch and enjoy, but they are losing out because of that one table.

I eventually shut them up. But only just. I got some big laughs and some applause for stuff, and I managed to reduce them to whispering, which only I could hear. But what's the point really? I'm reminded of a scene from Comedian, in which you hear the line, "I'm making these idiots laugh, so fucking what?".

The only positive thing from the evening was that a new bit about my Dad's illness seems to work, and certainly engages people's attention. It's been in my head for a while, but I've been wary of doing it on stage because it seems a bit too personal, and therefore, in my mind, self-indulgent, but as is always the case, that wasn't true when it finally got aired.

Dentally Damaged Tongue

2005-11-22T11:01:00.000Z

Things bother me. People bother me. And when people and things get together and whisper in the corner, well then I become well and truly discombobulated. I'm becoming ever more annoyed and bewildered by the increasing frequency of what I assume is "ironic" political incorrectness. Irony only works, surely, when you have a demonstrable body of work on which to draw those ironic allusions, it doesn't work when all you say is racist/homophobic/disablist/mysogynistic or body fascistic. The trend towards this Gervais-esque tone is quite frankly, political incorrectness gone mad.

And Political Correctness is a term which is so readily sneered at. There's a book by Barry Glasner called The Culture of Fear, which carefully deconstructs the attacks on PC thinking, which I'd thoroughly recommend reading. Also, How Mumbo Jumbo Conquered The World by Francis Wheen, but that's another subject entirely.

Anyway, how morally repugnant is it of me to sit quietly and bite my tongue when I hear acts saying these things on stage? When does ironic hatred stop being ironic? Surely an ironically mysogynistic joke is exactly the same as a mysogynistic one, no matter how you pitch your voice? The worst example I can think of right now is the ITV show Reading Festival Comedy Tent, which offered up a string of white middle class male comedians, a slurry of disablist jokes, and a female vaudeville act which was nothing short of a striptease. It's almost as if the 1980s never happened. And while that would mean that 'Bastard Thatcher' never got her paws on the country, I woe the effect it's having on "alternative" comedy.

Maybe my bile is fuelled by a bad gig I did on Sunday night. Who knows? Rusty is the best word to use. Creaking would be another. Matters weren't helped by a very conversational audience, the most vocal of whom turned out to be an act doing his first open spot. Poor form indeed.

Choked

2005-11-08T00:33:00.000Z

There I stand, cheap, weightless microphone in my hand, the stark incandescent light of the room belying the dark intimacy that a comedy gig requires. The audience watch on, agog, apoplectic, unmoved, as I slowly die on stage. Literally. I managed to choke on a mouthful of water tonight. No-one came to my aid, no-one cared that I was finding it hard to breathe, they just watched on as I struggled to talk, whilst simultaneously trying to catch some oxygen, eyes streaming, voice cracking. I hate, well, people really.

It wasn't my finest hour as a comedian, barely staying alive didn't help matters, and nor did my shambolic, slipshod, floundering performance. I knew I wasn't doing well, but part of me knew that if I applied some concentration and some tightly honed material to the situation, I could easily turn it around. But there was a moment when I got a big laugh out of being rude to some poor, innocent by-sitter, when my contempt for the audience took over. I positively embraced my death, I did all the things you aren't supposed to do: pointing out how I was struggling, telling the audience you're not funny, pausing in the most inappropriate place, breaking my own rythmn. At one point, I even invited the audience to offer their feedback, and I heard the word "floundering". Not a bad linguistic choice as it happens.

But what was most telling was that when I did finally stop arsing about like that, and presented them with my storm story, I immediately had them laughing again, louder than they had done all night. Such a shame that the momentum was broken by someone questioning the physics of what is an absolutely honest retelling of a factual event. As I said, I hate people.

Fascists Eh? Cuh. What Can You Do?

2005-11-07T18:12:00.000Z

Well, you could unite against them, like we did in Birmingham, less than a week after the race riots. To be honest, I was pretty worried that there might be some trouble, but rather boringly and uneventfully, there wasn't. That would have made this entry much more interesting, as I recounted the moment I punched a fascist in the face. Didn't happen. At the very least Nick Griffin could have bothered to turn up to say we had hurt his feelings. In the end, all we got was a phone call from Mussolini saying sorry for all the silly bother.

Yeah, so, a gig for the Birmingham branch of Unite Against Fascism. That's a bit of a misleading misnomer really, because what they mean is Unite Against the BNP, which is fair enough, not Unite Against An Economic Ideology, which is less clear cut. Either way, it's odd doing comedy just after a man in a leather jacket has done a right on comrades type speech. Apparently we raised two hundred pounds.

I did an okay gig. Performance wise I felt a little off-time, but I seemed to get the laughs I deserved. There was the small matter of forgetting to do the initial joke for a huge call back at the end of my set, but I covered it well, and actually got a great response from playing up to the folly of it all.

Did a writing day with Mr Hodgson for the sitcom which was extremely productive. We'll see what comes of it all.

It feels a bit like I might be stalking Stewart Lee. We went to see his show again at the Tobacco Factory, and as always, watching him perform material for a second or third time was brilliantly funny. He's one of those comedians who I can happily listen to over and over again, and always laugh out loud. He was supported by Stephen Carlin, who was disappointing, and reminded me of a slightly sub-standard Mr Lee circa 1990. To be honest, I'd have much rather seen him supported by Josie Long, who filled that role last year apparently. Never mind.

Four Gigs Older

2005-10-13T17:51:00.000Z

A lot has happened since my last ramble. First of all, I'm four gigs older as a comedian, and maybe it's worth my while brain dumping all of that into this here keyboard. Trouble is, I am very very tired, so this might make little or no sense. It took me three attempts to type the word tired. Anyway ...

Gig one was a local one, as the stand up act in the middle of some improvised comedy. It took place at a venue in Bristol I wasn't previously familiar with. Nice room, no lighting, a not so special PA system. Therefore it was harder work than it needed to be, especially with the lack of compere before me. I did fifteen, the start of which was simply working the crowd, waking them up to the idea of stand up, blabbing out some unimaginative quips during banter, then I got through a good rendition of my set, including a journey through my storm story which harvested some new laughs. Another of my new bits was branded genius by a fellow performer.

Gig two was a last minute booking for Mr Owen Niblock, and involved a drive to the Midlands. It was at Bedworth Arts Centre, for shall we say, a more mature audience than I am normally used to. This made me apprehensive, especially as I was on first, but the fifteen I did at the top was more fun than I expected, and much easier than I anticipated.

Gig three was another jaunt into the Midlands, this time to Melton Mowbray. The journey up was fun as I shared a lift with three other acts, all of whom did a superb job. I've done this place before, and this time I was compere. Having not done that particular role for quite a while, I was afeared of being rusty, and my mood wasn't helped by the meagre spattering of audience. They were lovely though, and from my opening line onwards, it was a joy. The first section involved some chatter between them and I, with a misguided segue into material, though that didn't hamper things one bit. Section two contained a bilious rant about mainstream comedians that was one of the most fun things I have ever performed, and the closing section was a rendition of Storm which contained the biggest, loudest, longest laugh I may have ever experienced.

And then the fourth gig, again in the Midlands, this time in Wolverhampton. I did the opening twenty, once again to a small crowd affected by weather and football. The room was odd, but the people were keen. They were too easy really, they even forgave me for the heinous forgetfulness of an entire bit, which I hideously failed to cover. I actually asked Gaz Mackin for a prompt, my mind was that blank. So thanks to him. But it led into the best performance of storm so far I think. I do really enjoy telling that story and I'm pleased I'm getting the responses to it that I have so far.

So, with four hours sleep after the drive back from Wolves, I was up at six and off to London for a development meeting for a sitcom. I never know what I should and shouldn't divulge about preliminary preparations for projects, but the meeting was incredibly promising. Things will be slow though.

Must sleep now.

I Hate Myself

2005-09-29T14:05:00.000Z

I said something on stage last night that I hate myself for. And I'm not repeating it here, because that would be bad. It wasn't meant to sound the way it sounded either. Bah.

Anyway, the gig was in Leicester at the Ship Of Fools, which is neither in a ship, nor peopled by Fools. There were however only six people in the audience, which meant that there was technically one act per audience member. It's a shame because normally the club is well peopled and is usually very good fun to do. Did my set, just for the sake of it really, but came away feeling like it was a bit of a wasted journey.

Never mind.

Random Tappings On A Dirty Keyboard

2005-09-23T00:25:00.000Z

Before I say anything else, Armando Iannucci is an incredibly funny man.

Anyway, I just got back from London, where urchins cleaned my chimney, and gigs got cancelled all over the place. Again. The Troy went ahead on Wednesday night, to all of two whole people. But to be fair, it was pretty much worth doing. They were quite insistent that they wanted to have some fun comedy moments, and although we were all somewhat reluctant to go ahead, we did it for them. I didn't do anything new, other than trying a story about my diabetes test for the second time. I'll give it one more outing before I decide if it's a keeper. The storm story seems to have moulded itself into a proper bit now, so I should try and book some more gigs, especially ones where I'll get more time to do lots more.

So, now, go and listen to old episodes of Charm Offensive, or watch The Armando Iannucci Shows, or Gash.

Under New Management

2005-09-21T10:34:00.000Z

I've had two decidedly different gigs at The Hatchet in Bristol in the past fortnight. Both times, I was very well received, one I enjoyed, one I did not. At all. Last week, I was the penultimate act and I had a very clear idea that I wanted to get through some certain bits of material. The opportunity didn't really arise. Instead I had to deal with some persistent interruptions, which though not malicious, meant that it was hard to get through anything too lengthy. So, instead of doing what I wanted, I ended up acting in a mock frustrated manner. This was the right approach and meant I got a lot of laughs, but it was ultimately, actually, frustrating, because of what I couldn't do.

And this weekend gone, I was on second. Again the place was full, but this time, there were no verbose elements in the crowd. So it gave me the chance to take my time with a few new ideas, and then tell my storm story, which is a nice chunky bit with a lot of teeth in it. I really enjoy performing it, and it's been well liked by audiences since I've had the confidence to sell it to them. One new idea I tried started nicely, and ended flat, which didn't surprise me. Then I told a story about a diabetes test I've just had, something that literally only occurred to me before I went on stage, and that got a very big laugh.

Anyway, I'm in London as I type this, ready to do a gig at The Troy tonight.

Edinburgh: Week Three; Home

2005-08-29T23:19:00.000Z

Wow. I'm actually home. And my cat ran all the way up the street to greet me when I got back, which was nice, especially as he's an old man and should by rights be on a zimmer frame by now. It's actually been more than a week since my last post, and so I'm struggling to remember what's happened. In no particular order, the shows I have seen include: Stewart Lee, 90s Comedian (a masterclass in stand up comedy and extremely funny); Al Pitcher, Wolf Catcher (such fun it made me giggle heartily in spite of being in my worse mood of the festival); Daniel Kitson, Stories for the Wobbly Hearted (genius, nothing need more be said); Political Animal (in which I made Andy Zaltzman laugh, and he made me laugh even more); Daniel Kitson's Listening Club (a hugely fun way to wake up of a Sunday morning, and great to watch him wetting himself behind his sound system); Stewart Lee's Afternoon Delight (in which he read a fabulous poem about the perfect joke and the death of hack comedy, then read the first few chapters of his beautiful new novel Soiled Doves); aaaand some others which escape my mind right now.

The rollercoaster of emotions continued unabated, for many different reasons, but now I'm home, I'm missing the experience already. Along the way I'm sure my sour face annoyed and bored a lot of people, and I'm sure I offended some people too. If I did, sorry. Mr Hodgson finished his run of shows in perfect style, giving his best performance to an overpacked room, then expressing his delight that his Edinburgh had been his most enjoyable by a long way. Unproper finished on a mixed note, with Iszi giving a great set, and Owen having to deal with an annoying heckler. He handled it consummately and got some huge laughs on the way, but it wasn't the way he wanted to end the run, so my heart felt for him when he came off.

Having done not nearly enough gigs myself whilst there, I hope to rectify it with some more, write new stuff, and try out the ideas I jotted down in my lonely moments. I did a gig at Nicol Edwards, which went well in front of a handful of people, and I got through my storm story with aplomb. I like performing it, and it's about the only true thing I have in my set at the moment. As I said, the plan is to do my own hour next year, but that's going to depend on many factors.

Overall, I have no regrets about the whole experience, and I would do it again, but maybe not for a few weeks at least. If I was a piss poor writer who decided to put star systems on what is essentially just an opinion, I'd be inclined to do that now, but I'm not. Which is good. Reviewers are cunts.

Edinburgh: Week Two; Frustration

2005-08-17T13:14:00.000Z

There's a whole arts festival going on in this beautiful city, there's a book festival going on, there's a film festival starting today, there's the only chance to see a photographic exhibition in Britain, there's even the Scottish Museum, yet it seems all anyone I meet here wants to do is comedy. Which seems a shame, and frustrates me that people aren't taking advantage of the opportunity. It also annoys me that the only socialising I really get to do is comedy based too. No-one really wants to go and wander around the new parliament building. But anyway, bitch over, I really am enjoying the rollercoaster ride of emotions.

I stood in for Mr Owen Niblock on Monday night, as a replacement in Unproper. I did okay, kind of enjoyed it, but I felt creaky and rusty. It was nice to do a lengthy 20-25 minutes though, and I feel much more confident that I can do support work now, given that I went on stage to a cold room, warmed them nicely, and got some pretty big laughs, even with the newer material.

Mr Wilberforce P Hodgson got a five star review from the Guardian on Monday too, calling him Christ-like. That means he's pretty much sold out for the rest of the run now. Alan Davies came along to see him and thoroughly enjoyed the show. He's not nearly as tall as he looks on the telly. And Stewart lee introduced himself to me, which is an incredibly vapid thing to post, but it cheered me up for a few minutes and shook me free from my melancholy for a while.

Iszi and Owen are improving at a dramatic pace, which is great to see, and really makes me proud to be a small part of their endeavour. It makes me want to do my own show next year, but that's a matter for the bank manager.

Edinburgh: Week One; A Gamut of Emotions

2005-08-11T14:17:00.000Z

I'm not going to talk about comedy. That's my resolution, every day, and every day I end up breaking it. But I've figured out why, it's because of something I have arrogantly labelled Chicken McNugget Social Interaction. Everyone is rushing from place to place, and that means any chat you have with a familiar face is a tiny morsel, and unsurprisingly, the first things people want to talk about is their show and how it's going. By which time they have to leave. There's nothing wrong with this at all, but every now and then I'd like to have a chat about the gorgeous architecture of the city, or those two life sized bronze giraffes on the Leith Road.

The flat in which I am wonderfully being allowed to crash is lovely, and situated near a great little Delicatessan, so I've been getting up each morning and coming back with what Tom has called a Gourmet Breakfast. It's a nice start to the day, a cup of coffee and something different to munch on. This week I've been experiencing my first proper Fringe, and I've visited most of the big name venues, but my favourite place to be at the moment is the Cafe Royal, though I don't know why.

Somehow, I've managed to do quite a bit of writing, and I feel stupidly bohemian sitting in a bar with my notepad, scrawling badly thought out jokes. Gig wise, it's been less proactive. I've done a couple, two of which were great fun, the others were a waste of time.

The biggest sense I've had this week is one of desperation. Not in a bad way, but it seems to be the overwhelming thing in the air, aside from the hops from the nearby beer factory. People are desperate for an audience, for a review, for a break, for a good show, for some sleep. Not having a show myself, well, that's a double edged sword. It means I'm not being sucked in by all of that, but it also means I'm feeling a bit lonely, becasue quite rightly, everyone else in their own little cocoon. Having my own show would be the antidote to that. But I have the shows I am helping out on, and both are going well in their own ways. Good Wil Hodgson is a fantastic hour of storytelling, and has audiences captivated. Wil is where he belongs, doing the kind of comedy he wants to be doing. Unproper is pulling in much bigger audiences than I expected, and is in a lovely room, which is helping iszi and Owen to develop.

I'm rationing myself to seeing what I think will be great shows, and so far I haven't been disappointed. The Little Howard Appeal was a wonderfully charming hour, and so cute it belied the sharp comedy beneath. Also, the Book Club was great, especially Robin Ince, who was really nice to me after my spot at the (brilliant) Last Show Around, hosted by Tom Bell and Andrew O'Neil. But my favourite so far has been An Audience with Dan Nightingale and Josie Long. Dan is good, and Josie is sublimely brilliant. It makes me realise that I can do the comedy I want to do, but makes me realise I am not nearly as good as I want to be. Listening to an interview she did with Iszi also shows the keen insight and intelligence she has and which informs her comedy.

I plan on seeing Stewart Lee and Robin Ince's solo show in the next week. maybe also Craig Campbell. Oh, and I saw John Oliver and Andy Saltzman, which I thoroughly enjoyed, It's good to see some proper satire that doesn't resort to the button pushing laziness of the majority of lame attempts I've seen or heard recently. It's as good as Charm Offensive was, and that's high praise indeed.

An Angry Letter To Anyone Who Might Care

2005-07-17T17:29:00.000Z

Dear Sir,

I really must most vociferously protest at the shambolic and slip shod manner in which Hippies are allowed to run large scale public events. Namely, Ashton Court Community Festival, a place where the middle class flower child can park its Renault Clio and partake in a pretense of community. It beggars belief that when confronted with a massive entertainment festival, rather than making use of the ample infra-structure Bristol has to offer, not least the road system, the sanitation system and the numerous huge stadia and theatre, these Make Tea Not War morons choose to house their festival on top of a huge hill in the middle of nowhere, and ask 60,000 people to urinate in several large plastic boxes. And then, not content with foisting the ramshackle Super Furry Animals onto my unsuspecting face, they decide to lay on adequate public transport to return us to our civilised urban sprawl. Their logic was impeccable. They reckoned 60,000 people all leaving at once would require 6 buses. Though I may need to check my facts, it's quite possible that a child died in the ensuing mob mentality.

But anyway, the gig in the Performing Arts tent. Always hard work, always fun, but for no apparent reason. I did a very short set, in which I tried my extended Batman joke again (to a good response), and continued to road test some elements of the Storm story. Not a bad gig, but not nearly good enough to appease the 400+ people who had sat down to laugh.

An Apology

2005-07-05T12:17:00.000Z

I should apologise for being apologetic. Or, actually, I shouldn't. More than a few people have said to me over the past week that I seem to lack conviction and belief in my material sometimes, and this translates into almost saying sorry for a joke. While I don't think I have ever articulated that out loud on stage, I thought that I was being playful with my shrugs when a joke bombed, but maybe it bombed because of that apologetic demeanour I adopted.

Two cases highlighted the difference this makes to my act. They also highlighted the importance of placement, which I really should have known already. Case one: Leamington Spa, doing a gig for Mr Okse. Having survived a dramatic incident in the epicentre of a storm, I wrote a routine about it, and was eager to perform it, knowing that for once, I had a fully formed anecdote. That's when I made a rookie mistake. I was so keen to do it, I opened with it, which was a dumb idea. It starts too slowly to be an opening gambit, and so I quickly lost all confidence in it, and abandoned it before I got to the stronger parts. This also manifested the apologetic shrugs, which littered the remaining set. All round, a very poor effort on my behalf.

Case two: The Duck Egg in Penzance. A very long drive, which made me determined to have a good gig. Plus someone else mentioning my apologetic demeanour gave me a firm kick on the proverbial bottom. This time, I opened with the established stuff, and held back on the storm story. While I didn't quite have my rhythm in those bits, I managed to bring the audience happily enough to the new bit. I adopted a different attitude to the routine too, not delivering it in a matter of fact reportage manner, but in a wow, I can't believe this happened to me way. I edited the opening as I went along, thus cutting to the chunkier bits much quicker, which helped alot. It works much better later on in the set, and is already feeling strong enough to develop into a keeper. So I think I'll replace my moon landing stuff with the storm anecdote for a while, and see if it has legs.

Broccoli

2005-06-17T15:26:00.000Z

My life seems to be repeating itself over and over again, in an effort to remind me of all the good things that have passed, and reiterate all the miserable things that persist. I've seen a string of Edinburgh preview shows this year, featuring the same people I saw last year. Each show was new of course, some were an improvement, some were not, but all of them made it feel like last year all over again.

And within that, the monthly cycles keep repeating themselves. Every time I look up at the sky, it seems to be a full moon, and I am wandering out of a gig. Or I'm back at a gig which it feels like I did only very recently. Much like last night, when I returned to the Bristol Student Union, performing for people I have seen before.

Got them quickly, soon lost them, but got them back again. I did a routine I only ever seem to do in front of students, or at least, only seems to work in front of them. Three sticks of broccoli on a table threw me slightly. Did quite a bit of chit chat ad libbing too, which is always fun, but left feeling slightly bored.

The same thing happened when I left Batman Begins.

Peter Sissons

2005-05-31T23:24:00.000Z

I think Bath is my nemesis. It tricks me into believing I can do comedy, lures me into its confines, then throws up some annoying obstacles. Like tonight, when I was the only comedian as far as the eye could see, surrounded by pianists, acoustic guitarists, and drunkards who thought the musicians were iPods, and kept making requests. Not the most conducive atmosphere for comedy.

The audience, understandably, really weren't interested in listening to the spoken word, so I made the odd decision to ask a pianist on stage to accompany me. The resultant musical backing track certainly got their attention, and they were listening as I meandered slowly through some material. Seeing as how comedy timing is all about rhythm, being lulled into a much slower tempo by the music really screwed things up, and in retrospect, though it was a fun experiment, it may have been embarrassing for everyone except me.

Gleeless

2005-05-27T11:38:00.000Z

Annoyed as I am that I've had a string of gigs cancelled on me, it doesn't mean I didn't have a good, fun gig in Melton Mowbray. The long journey up into Leicestershire was made all the more entertaining as it was accompanied by the dulcet directing tones of Charlotte Green, she of Radio Four and GPS satellite systems. And she was suckered onto my windscreen. In a manner of speaking. What I'm saying is, I had a GPS system in the car, courtesy of my fellow comedian.

Anyway. The gig. Only ten people in, but they were all really in the mood. It was very relaxed and informal, and I spent most of my time chatting to them about our geeky shared interests, including Star Wars, Hitchhikers and Quantum Leap - which generated my first and best ever Sam Beckitt impression. What little material I slipped in went okay, but they wanted chit chat more, so I had a chance to freestyle with some ideas within the written bits. My favourite was the creation of RoboJesus, which made me laugh far too much, and will never be aired again.

I know they all enjoyed it, because everyone at the gig then went to the pub for a drink and a chat. Which was nice too.

Rhythm & Blue

2005-05-17T22:29:00.000Z

Sometimes, you find yourself on stage, usually in Bath it has to be said, not quite sure what you're doing there. There's all these bewildered looking faces, stoically staring back at you, as you artlessly and gracelessly stumble from joke to joke. It's odd. These are the same jokes you've heard garner laughs many times before, yet, for some reason, all they're garnering this time is, shall we say, apathy. I don't even think them heckling, or verbally berating me would have been worse, in fact, it would have been preferable.

Welcome to the moment when you have no rhythm. I have absolutely no idea how to explain what I mean. Maybe it's best known as timing. Maybe it has another name, but that feeling that nothing is flowing, that the jokes just don't feel like jokes this time. I don't know. Something, just, well, missing. Maybe it was simply a reflection of the fact I wasn't in the mood for it, so why should an audience be in the mood for me?

Green Eggs And Melksham

2005-05-13T10:53:00.000Z

I had the pleasure of performing in Melksham's inaugural stand up comedy gig this week, at the behest of Mr Paul Tregaskis. It'd been a few days since I had gigged, so I didn't feel razor sharp. At least I've used that time constructively, rebuilding my website and starting work on a sitcom.

But anyway, the gig. Started well with some ad libs, then moved into my material, which got about as much as it deserved I think. Nothing amazing, nothing awful. Now I have a ball-droppingly big gig to look forward to at the Glee in Cardiff. Gulp.

Bungee Joking

2005-04-13T10:17:00.000Z

I had another chance to try out Blue Socks, again at The Hatchet. It was a last minute thing, and I went on first as a favour, so I wasn't exactly prepared. In the end, it simply boiled down to some banter about my week, which then lead in nicely to the material. The performance of the piece gets better with each airing, which seems to help with its reaction, and so it's developing nicely into a coherent bit. It might even sit comfortably at the end of a longer set.

A few days later, and I was in Plymouth, this time for a Mirth Control gig at Ride. It's always nice being back somewhere I used to live, and the gig went very well, in spite of the doubts I had about it. Everything worked, like clockwork, and I dealt with some odd non-heckles quite well. It's good when you do well in front of a mate who's come along to support. Mark has a very comfortable floor too. Met Mr Junior Simpson, who was a nice guy, as well as Miss Zoe Lyons, who was also very nice.

Next day, and I was in Cardiff, ready and willing to do Poncho Comedy. I went on last, not exactly headlining, but it was a bit late, and in the break before me, a few people left to get taxis. So I was faced with a waning crowd and gaps in the seating, which made it harder than it needed to be. I got some big enough laughs, and I was very pleased with a protracted ad lib I did within my moon landing bit involving a fake cactus on the stage.

And, as if I was attached to giant cord of elastic, the day after that, I was back in Plymouth. This time for a charity gig in the basement of a pub. In aid of Cancer Research, we were sandwiched between bands, playing to a small crowd of attentive punters and a room full of inattentive ones. Again I went on last, and again they were waning, so I cut it short. An odd one all round, but another nice kip on Mark's floor, and I cooked a roast for us all before I left.

On my way home, I popped into a Mirth Control gig in Exeter. The Havana Bar, it's always a challenge, but I'm getting used to playing it now, and the smaller than normal crowd were very easy to placate. It was like painting by numbers.

That cord is tugging on my back again, and it's going to snap me back to Plymouth in a few days time, but not for a gig this time, just for larks.

Up For It In Kinver

2005-03-31T23:08:00.000Z

Well, at least everyone else seemed up for it there. A nice easy drive up the motorway, playing two new driving games, all inspired by Mr Jon Richardson, who wonderfully drove us to Nottingham a few days before. The Lorry Game, wherein you and your co-travellers pick a supermarket and get a point for every lorry from that supermarket which you pass. It being Easter Weekend, the score was low, but I have to say, I did win.

The Caravan Game, wherein you whisper the word Gypsies everytime you pass a caravan. Both fun games, both more pleasing than the gig I did when we eventually got to Kinver.

Mr Andy Hobo always puts on a good gig, always brings an audience, and always asks me to do a spot or two for him. The room was packed, they had been nicely fed with curry, and I was sure they would indeed by Up For It as the brand suggested. They were, except they wouldn't shut up. Or more precisely, two people wouldn't shut up, and kept interrupting. Not even heckling, just interrupting, and there's only so many times you can politely, or impolitely, ask someone to shut up before you get bored and bore your audience. So I gave up, stopped performing, and just painted by numbers until I had done my time. Most lazy, most unprofessional, but at least I did my time. Did another rendition of Blue Socks too, just to run through it. Got nothing.

By the time Iszi Lawrence went on, the chatty ones had left, and so she had an exceptionally good gig, worked hard, but it was by far the best I've seen her. She can easily do a good solid twenty now. I had to leave before Mr Bill Bruce went on, but from all accounts, he blew the roof off.

It's been fairly uneventful since. I did watch Adaptation though, and it inspired me to sit down and do some writing. I'm following the Chuck Palanhiuk method, writing self contained short stories with recurring characters and seeing if it molds itself into a cohesive novel structure. I need a break from scripts, so prose seemed a fun alternative. I'm writing about something I know. Well, the only two things I know for sure, how to write, and what's going on in my head. It's an exercise in exorcising my thoughts. Much like this blog.

Blue Socks Rocks

2005-03-14T01:06:00.000Z

A regular reader, Mr Mackin, asked after the Genesis of a Joke project this evening, and I am ashamed to say that it has gone no further. This may be because I'm allowing the ideas to slowly gestate in my head, or it may just be a result of bone idle laziness and not knowing where my head is at any given moment in time. That said, whenever I outline the structure of the piece, people seem to make positive noises.

I had a comedian's day out type device on Thursday. The very nice, Mr Owen Niblock, graced the pavements of Bristol with his stick dulcimer presence, and so I took it upon myself to entertain him before his gig. We ended up munching gigantic pub burgers in The Hatchet, which is a lovely pub in the afternoons, with a much different atmosphere about it than when we do the comedy there. Anyway, we talked far too much about stand up, not enough about writing, and more about stand up. He's possibly the hardest working comedian I know, very focused, very determined, and a nice bloke to boot. He guilts me into booking more gigs and doing more writing.

So, like a trooper, I spent the next few days sulking and feeling incredibly sorry for myself for no apparent reason.

Which is how I found myself as I returned to the Hatchet, this time to try out some new material that has been bouncing around for some time without an airing. I went on first, after our compere for the evening scared everyone out of their pants asking people to stop talking. It made it a little tougher, but I've come on to worse, and it seemed fairly easy to warm them up a little. A bit of banter, some smiles, and some bankable one liners soon got them all back in the groove, which shifted nicely into Blue Socks. The full written version of this material can be found on the Bawdy Blog (see links below), but I have deliberately not committed it to memory because it is far too wordy. So, on stage, I did a compressed version, getting the basic beats right, using the chorus properly (ie, if only I had some socks), setting the tone for the Sock Shop denouement, and getting a spontaneous round of applause for the punchline.

It's quite nice when stuff works how you imagine it will. I feel much more confident that I can deliver the trickier material I write for myself, now I have some more performance tools. I was pleased with Blue Socks, and so did something else that's hard work to deliver, Prime Minister's Teeth, which also went down well, and got applause for the punchline too.

All in all a fun set to do, and it's left me feeling happier than I was. Which is nice. I should try out new stuff more often.

A Triumvirate Of Apathy

2005-03-10T01:25:00.000Z

It's been a busy few days. And I feel guilty that I haven't actually done any writing, not even the odd one liner for the set. That's probably because my mind is elsewhere, and has been for many many months now.

Anyway. There's three gigs to talk about. None of them particularly worth mentioning. I returned to the Hatchet in Bristol for the first time in the Pope knows how long, to compere for the first time in ages. The best word to describe it would be "Shambolic". My mind had been elsewhere all day, due to Dad being very ill, but that really is no excuse for what was essentially an exercise in how not to host a gig. With no preparation, I resorted to material between acts, which didn't work. There was a distinct lack of rapport between myself and the audience, and I completely failed to energise a lacklustre crowd. Pour scorn on me.

Next up, came The Green Room in Cheltenham, promoted and booked by Mr Nik Hill and Mr Demeteris Deech. It's a cosy little venue, with a lot of effort poured into it's promotion. I even stole a poster because it was so nice and had my name on it. I was due on second, but at the last minute I got asked to swap and go on first. Which I did. Fairly unsuccessfully, it has to be said. The older crowd didn't dig my groove, and kind of just sat there smiling appreciatively. At the back, a group of local "twats" I believe is the correct term, there to watch their mate do his first gig, were very talkative and loud. They didn't even shut up when he came on later. I cut it short to stop the atmosphere deflating any further. That's how it felt as I left the stage, but by the end of the night, I felt that I couldn't have done much better in that spot anyway.

And as for the guy who was there with his mates, I hate to say it, but he was probably the worst act I've ever seen. He failed to arrive on stage when the audience applauded him on, and when he did finally sheepishly get to the microphone, he did a weird half impression of Rollie Birkin from the Fast Show, minus the jokes, started a bit of material about health warnings on cigarette packets, got mildly heckled and proceeded to say someone was fat over and over again, and then, for someone so reluctant to take the stage, he had to have the microphone physically taken from him. Dreadful. Oh, very, dear. I think he thought you could stand there and make it up as you go along, even the first time.

And then came Cov-Tickles, the former Hilarious gig in Coventry. Okse was our compere, and Mr Nick Page our Headliner. A nice enough room, with a dwindling audience, I found it hard to keep their attention. It reminded me of the gig I did in Newport, with the notion of diminishing returns, but my final callback got the best response it's had in ages, so that was nice enough. And Mr Page did an excellent job. He gets better each time I see him.

But it's not all gigging at the moment. I've pitched a sitcom to Channel Five of all places, off the back of the well-received Hodgson pilot, and I am hoping to get some work on a recently commissioned Endemol show which is being produced in Bristol. But now I've mentioned both of those, nothing will come of them. That's my luck.

Being Fretful About Being Forgetful

2005-02-27T00:40:00.000Z

That was an odd sensation.

Another gig for a room full of students, this time a little harder to work, and so ultimately more satisfying when I did well, but I totally forgot my set. That's never happened before. Maybe the odd line, but not the whole damn thing. It didn't last that long, and actually helped the initial few jokes, but totally discombobulated me. I love that word. A tramp on a bike used it to describe his mood last week, so I think he earned the pound I gave him.

That's not exactly relevant, but who cares. I felt very professional on stage tonight, aside from the forgetfulness. I worked a subdued room, woke them up, quickly got them laughing harder than they had been and felt good about myself. Soft furnishings, low ceilings and carpets meant that laughs died quicker than they rightly should have, so momentum was harder to sustain. I even managed to ad lib a new line in an old bit of material, which was good, and with a tweak or two will make a joke where there really was no joke before.

An Improv-ment

2005-02-25T10:53:00.000Z

I had a lonely jaunt across the Severn Bridge in high winds last night, on my way to The Wharf in Cardiff. It's an odd thing travelling to a gig on my own, it's not something I've done much of recently. As always, I got hopelessly lost, because the Welsh town hates me.

Anyway, it actually went quite well, especially compared with the last time I was there. I got spontaneous applause for a gag I had come up with moments before I walked on stage. The logistics of the room make it a conundrum to play, but I think I've figured it out now. Unless you know the setup there, there's no point in trying to describe it, so I won't bother.

On Wednesday I did my second night of Improv. Now, this is something I really love doing, even though I am still making amateur mistakes, such as telling people the things they are miming don't exist, but unless people tell me that, I'll never know. It's just a big old chance to show off, and tone up the acting skills. I think it'll be good for the stand up, as well as for my jaunt to Edinburgh.

Students ... Bag O' Shite

2005-02-13T14:23:00.000Z

I had a good gig last night, but I feel empty. It was back in the Mandela Bar at the Bristol Student Union, this time for the inaugural Comedy Society gig. It was full up with people, they had to bring in extra chairs, and they were extremely up for comedy.

Standing on stage, I faked an excess of confidence, riffed with some rugby players on the front row, then launched into my material. Everything worked, exactly how I thought it would. There were no surprises. I even put down a friendly heckle the same way I had done in my head earlier, knowing full well it would be coming. Where's the fun in that?

I learned nothing.

Off The Cuff Comedy

2005-02-09T23:28:00.000Z

I took my first saunter into organised improvised comedy tonight. I've always wondered how good I might be at it, so it was inevitable I would try it at some point, especially given as I've found somewhere I can do it.

The first warm up game I played was probably my most successful. It's called Pandora's Box, and you ask someone what's in the box, they tell you, and you mime it. Then you ask them again and again, ad infinitum. My mime skills have always been pretty good, and I don't often get a chance to use them, so getting laughs seemed fairly easy. I ended up inside the box, inside a suitcase.

I floundered a little more on the verbal and acting games, but that was a lack of confidence more than anything. What I think I'll gain most from it is the feet thinking ability it will exercise, and that will be damn useful on stage for the stand up.

It was a little annoying that I didn't get the chance to do the live performance a bit later, but then I wasn't expecting to do that anyway. I have a tiny bite mark on my arm now, from the improv bug.

Diminishing Returns

2005-02-02T01:14:00.000Z

I usually like student gigs, and I was pretty confident about the one I was at tonight in Newport. That is, for some reason, up until about ten minutes before I went on, when I suddenly started to doubt everything in my set, and question whether they would get any of my references.

I managed to milk my opening laugh for all it was worth, which boded well for the rest of it. I reckon I had them laughing for ten to fifteen seconds, and the laugh came in three distinct waves. All I did was stand and wait for them. It was fun. But from then on, it went downhill. Each new punchline got less and less of a response, until I could do no more with them. So I cut it short and left with my tail between my legs.

Thus, the only real plus point of the evening was meeting Mr Jim Tavare, who remembered me from some sketches I had written for The Sketch Show. Which was kind of flattering.

Tea And Coffee Making Facilities

2005-01-31T22:46:00.000Z

When you have a really good gig, it's very hard to take a step back, analyse it and come up with something constructive to say about it. I was in Corsham last night, revisiting a club I played a few years back. It's a little different now, with a proper stage and lighting, but the hospitality I remembered so well was still present.

I had them with my first line. It was a bit too easy really.

What was most fun, aside from the actual performance, was the excellent tea and coffee making facilities in the room where we waited. There was also a double bed, a TV and DVD player, plus an iron and ironing board. The kettle was pastel yellow, and the mugs were New York sized. There was a pot of Nescafe Gold Blend, three packets of sugar, and several packets of ordinary Nescafe. There was however, no milk. This was soon rectified, when a glass of milk was passed to us. Unfortunately, it was a little too late, as I had already gulped back half of my black beverage. Shame.

The Double Headed Comedy Beast Of Old Clifton Town

2005-01-23T01:00:00.000Z

Ah, the perils and pitfalls of doubling up two gigs in one night. I've done this once or twice before, and it never went well. I always did badly on the first one because my mind was on the second one, and badly on the second one because my mind was on the first one. So I was determined to avoid that tonight. Two gigs, both at student unions/halls, within short walking distance.

Gig one, at the Mandela Bar, was for a student birthday party, and was a pretty informal affair. Nice room, low ceiling, fairly good PA, nice crowd who needed warming up. There was no MC, just a quick, please welcome Simon, he's going to do some stand up. So I needed to do a little MCing to enliven and energise them, but to my surprise, not as much as I thought. Managed to get quickly into my set, which went along nicely, and I even adlibbed a new line in an old bit.

Gig two, at the Clifton Hill Halls, was in the JCR bar, but had a proper stage, lights and sound system. They put on plays there, so the set up was fantastic. I got there midway through the first half, and the crowd were well up for it. They'd had the pleasure of an excellent MC, Iszi Lawrence. I was on after the interval, and I meandered out from the wings and had a really good time of it. I tried the new line from the first gig, and it worked again, well, so that's a keeper. I closed with a new bit, which I think might be something I stick with for a while too.

And it snowed between gigs. So, all in all, a nice night. Which inevitably means something had to go wrong, which it did. I got pulled over by the police who thought I might have stolen my own car. So now I have to go to a police station and show them bits of paper that demonstrate it's mine.

Curse You God For Making Me This Way

2005-01-21T01:21:00.000Z

The title is a little tribute to Mr Richard Herring, whom I had the pleasure of seeing on Tuesday night at the Richmond Spring. Comedy junkies really are spoilt in Bristol with the number of excellent acts they get to see for ridiculously stupid and low prices. For this we have to thanks Mr Mark Olver. Anyway, Mr Herring was excellent, or atleast his new stuff was which I had not heard (look out for Nine Yoghurts), and his more familiar material sat very well in the flow of things. Also saw Mr Russell Brand who I must admit irritated me everytime I saw him on TV, but live, he is much more palatable, even great at times. Love his use of language, not so keen on his pants flashing shenanigans.

I've just got home from an intimate little gig in Bath. Haven't performed for a room where the comedians outnumber the audience for a very long time, but it gave me a chance to road test some very embryonic new material. But this is why God should curse me, I forgot to try out some of the bits I have in my head for Genesis of a Joke, and this would have been the perfect opportunity. So angry with myself. I even knew I had something to do all the time I was on, but it just eluded my tiny little brain.

I did manage to air what I hope might be a new opening gambit though. I'd been avoiding doing it for a bit because I'm convinced it's a little too Bill Bailey-esque, but that may just be because I'm some kind of comedy geek. It got more laughs than I had anticipated, and my propensity to draw out the joke at the end amuses me, but not anyone else it seems. It might be possible to make that extra mile work though with some tight language and lyrical lilts.

Stockard Channing

2005-01-17T13:38:00.000Z

Rizzo from Grease, and Mrs Bartlet from The West Wing, have absolutely nothing to do with anything right now. I just like the lilt of the words, Stockard Channing. It also sounds like it might be the name of a small west country shire.

Anyway. I did what is technically my first official supporting twenty last night. It was for Mirth Control and was in Exeter at the Havana bar. For me, that's a hard place to do a milestone gig, as the opens I have done there previously haven't always exactly gone well. Massive audience, all seemingly pretty up for it. Very quiet back stage in the Blue Room. I asked a question about how to actually play the odd shaped room, as I have never quite got my head around it, except accidentally I think on my last open there in August. Mr Martin Davis offered some excellent advice, which I tried to follow, but I think I was still a little too far forward up the stage.

As for the performance. Went pretty well. I tried a new joke, which bombed, and made me have to work a little harder to get them back, which I mostly did, though I could feel them losing interest in my longer material towards the end. It was alright.

Then I stuck around to watch the middle spot, Mr Peter D, who I thought was amazing. He should gig much more. Lovely persona, great written and improvised material and very assured on stage. Glad I stayed. It was a treat to watch.

PS: Keep an eye out for what I hope will be a continuing series of entries charting the development of a new piece of material I am about to write. I think I might call it Genesis of a Joke.

Genesis Of A Joke - Part One: Inception

2005-01-17T13:02:00.000Z

Okay, so the title sounds a bit too much like a Doctor Who episode, but who cares? I'm not entirely sure how this is going to work, but I want to chart the birth of a piece of material, talk about its development during writing, and then see what happens when it's performed before being re-written.

Inception: I was driving home from a good night out and my mind began to wander. I thought it was about time I wrote a nice new chunky piece to perform, a good ten minute routine. So, I began to consider being a bit more disciplined about it all, and decided that imposing a structure upon it would be fun. I still didn't know what it would be about, but I knew I wanted to use my script writing techniques on it. I wanted a three act structure, with a hook at the first and second act breaks, plus a midway plot point. And my age old favourite, a good plant and pay-off, or in stand up comedy parlance, a Callback.

This is all pretty anal for a bit of stand up I know, but it should be an interesting exercise. So, I have a structure, I just have nothing to hang off of it. Which is backwards to the way I normally conceive stand up material. I normally have the idea then develop it into a cohesive form.

I was nearly home when the actual content began to form in my head. What about a love story? Yeah, that sounded like it had legs as a longer routine. How could I work in the three acts without it getting too wordy, too lengthy? Treat each act as a separate bit, with a structure all of it's own. Thus, a narrative device began to appear, and it seemed obvious in my mind right then that it should be a story through time. A story in three stages of my life. The opening line wrote itself:

"I've been in love with the same woman three times throughout my life."

Home by now, I left it at that, and went to bed, letting the thoughts fester in my head for a while. That's always a good way to write I think, just let it all form a haze in the back of your mind, and ask your subconscience to write it for you. And I do mean actually ask it. Out loud.

Two days later, I sat down immediately after waking up and began to scrawl thoughts onto my pad. I wrote the opening line down, then decided the three points in my life should be aged seven, aged fourteen and aged twenty one. I remembered an incident from someone else's life that might provide a fun place to start aged seven, and so I need to ask them if it's okay to use it. That then gave me the callback I wanted for the end. It's not written yet, so I won't report it here.

A few other lines got scrawled onto the pad, one being "she was the kind of pretty that makes your elbows burst into tears," which will probably end up being the first in the list of three 'kinds of pretty', as though I like that image, I don't think it will get a laugh.

Then I put the pad down and went to read Harry Potter.

I Was In 'Nam

2005-01-06T15:54:00.000Z

Cheltenham. Which isn't nearly as interesting as Vietnam of course. Much less jungle, napalm and Wagner powered helicopters, and much more Ikea furniture. That said, there wasn't any Ikea furniture in the Slak Bar, which is where I was.

Nice room. Nice guy running the night. Good line up of acts. Audience seemed well up for it again, which is surprising given it was Bank Holiday Monday night, and everyone was probably headed back to work the next day after their Christmas holiday. Either way, I was certainly in the mood for it, but I think my mind was elsewhere beforehand. Maybe that's paradoxical.

Mr Paul Kerensa did a wonderful supporting twenty minutes, and the crowd thoroughly enjoyed him and were enlivened greatly. I stood at the back, ready to go. Mr Rufus Hound, their compere for the evening, stepped back onto stage, and everyone got up to get beer, urinate and hunt down the Viet Cong. The bar has been running a regular comedy night for a long, long time, and it seemed the audience were primed for an interval. For whatever reason, we had decided earlier that I would go on before the break, and so Rufus did a sterling job of filling time and waiting for people to return to their seats, but I think ultimately, they needed some time out.

Ridiculously, this thought dented my confidence, and I was ill at ease as I performed. Got laughs, but nothing like the energy Paul had elicited. He's obviously a more accomplished comedian than I, as I seem to lack the tools to bring an audience back on side. Most tellingly, I got my biggest response from a heckle retort. It wasn't even particularly clever, so I wasn't happy.

Bah Humbug

2004-12-30T13:10:00.000Z

Christmas was fun. So was Boxing Day. I now own far too many episodes of The West Wing, and want even more episodes of Quantum Leap. So it came to pass that I did a return gig at Hilarious in Dudley last night. A huge crowd with literally standing room only. And they were really up for it.

Except when I was on.

I'm not even sure why I didn't do well either. I had bags of confidence, which showed in the way I milked laughs out of jokes that died - so I guess I didn't do too badly, just in comparison to everyone else, who blew the roof off. I puffed away some ash in a tray outside in the other bar.

Met Okse and Ryan Gough again, who are nice guys, as well as meeting Steve Best for the first time. He too is a nice guy and well up for a chat, which is great when you want to take your mind off a bad gig. Karen Bayley and I seem to be on the bill together quite a bit recently, and she had a very good gig. I didn't get a chance to chat to Markus Birdman, whom I followed, but the roof was only settling back onto its rafters as I went on.

Anyway, I am getting offered a few more gigs these days, so the diary might be a bit more full if I really get off my arse and book some more. In my mind right now though, all I can think is that I need some nicer clothes to perform in. Maybe a trip to the sales is called for.

The Inverse Travel Distance Versus Performance Equation

2004-12-17T14:41:00.000Z

Two gigs in two days couldn't have thrown up two more disparate performances. The first one, in Dursley, for Mirth Control, is probably the most local gig I have ever done. It's so close to my house, I got really excited and looked at the AA website to see exactly how little I'd have to travel. It's eleven miles. That's as happy as I ever got about the whole experience, save for one thing.

Arriving at the venue (I say venue, I mean village pub of course), it occurred to me that such a local gig might mean lots of faces in the audience I recognised. Luckily that didn't happen, but the thought of seeing one of my Dad's mates, or one of my old teachers in the crowd certainly did nothing for my confidence. Other factors worked to dent it even further, not least the utter brilliance of the performance by the compere. That said, he gave me what I think is the nicest introduction I have ever had, describing me as "quirky, original and intelligent", three wonderful adjectives that may now work their way onto my CV somewhere.

That they didn't work their way into my set or performance that night is not surprising given the lack of confidence I imbued from the moment I stepped on stage. I kind of gave up halfway through too. Not a gig to remember in any way shape or form.

Now, Lydbury North is 111 miles from my house according to the AA, and I despised the fact I had to drive all that way. I moaned and harrumphed all day about it. But when I got there, I couldn't have been more pleased. The room was cosy, beautifully set up, had a sold out audience and we were even fed a plate of curry. For some reason, I had confidence in spades when I stepped up to the microphone.

Ironically, a lot of the people in the audience were the same people I had performed to in a hippy commune in a field in the summer. Luckily I hadn't done my set for them, I'd just bantered, and so the material they heard was fresh for them. And it worked. Very well. I had to use an awful lot of crowd control, even to the point where I had to quieten their laughter down to calm them for a punch that needed their attention. I felt very professional, and it might sound arrogant, but I think I turned the room on for the other acts too.

Kumsnot Comedy

2004-12-08T13:45:00.000Z

That title isn't some barbed critique of the lovely Owen Niblock's nice gig in Atherstone (Kumquat Comedy), which was very fun to do last night. It's just a rubbish pun on the fact that I had a stinking head cold when I performed, which oddly disappeared for the 15 minutes that I was on stage. It's back now though, twice as strong. Very strange.

Aside from the sniffles, the gig went well. A tiny audience unfortunately, but they seemed perfectly content to sit and be entertained. There was even a Pool Competition at the other end of the pub, but luckily it didn't interfere one bit. From a performance point of view, I seemed to naturally fall into a slightly slower and quieter rythmn which played well, and after some feedback from another act, I am aware again of how much I move about at the start of my set. I knew this from before and had been consciously trying to stop doing it, but it's slipped back in recently. So, I need to plant the mic stand down, turn round and plant my feet down for the first few beats of my act.

Thigh Slapping

2004-12-02T11:10:00.000Z

I sometimes find myself in situations I couldn't possibly have imagined I'd ever partake. One time, at band camp, I ended up in the Plymouth Theatre Royal watching Five Guys Named Moe, and I am no fan of the musical. Another time, I ran blindfolded through a convent clutching a javelin, and emerged with a Nun Kebab. But last night, I watched a student panto at the Bristol Student Union.

It was called Goldilocks and the Three Bares.

I settled down, not knowing what to expect, and for the first few minutes I was mightily snobbish about the whole thing. But the trouble with puns and popular culture references, mixed with ironically homophobic jokes and blokes in dresses, sprinkled with as much innuendo as you can stomach, is that it's quite infectious. At points I booed, I hissed and I even he'sbehindyoued.

It's a very nice little auditorium there too. They should get some comedians on.

Pap Pap

2004-11-30T11:02:00.000Z

BBC Three are running a show called Paparazzi. I don't know whether it's supposed to show these photographers in a good light, but to me it just emphasises how vile these men really are. But the weirdest thing - some of these Paps are becoming celebrities themselves. Obviously they are documentary stars now, but one or two of them are appearing on talk shows. Hopefully enough of them will achieve celebrity status, so that soon they'll just end up chasing each other around, and maybe just fuck off.

Last night, I witnessed a car accident, which incidentally wasn't the Paparazzi's fault. A tramp got hit by a taxi. This was in a perceived "rough" part of town. Within thirty seconds a police car had pulled up. Within three minutes, there were three police cars. An ambulance did eventually show up, but the tramp refused treatment. In all, EIGHT police cars were at the scene. There is little or no point to this recollection.

I just haven't had a gig for a few days.

Sloppy Mike

2004-11-24T01:19:00.000Z

Had a fairly average gig tonight in Bristol at the Richmond Springs. Nice crowd, some good acts on, but something just didn't seem to click. Firstly, I felt oddly uncomfortable on stage, maybe because the audience was so close, maybe because my friends were sat right in the front row, when they'd normally be out of sight at the back. Maybe it was because I was doing my set too. I don't normally do my set in Bristol, for no actual reason other than it seems wrong.

What I'm most annoyed about though is my lack of microphone technique tonight. I did alright, but could have done better had I handled the basic act of talking into an amplifier correctly. I wouldn't be so hard on myself if I hadn't commented on the fact that holding that particular mic so close to his mouth had made an earlier open spot a little hard to hear. So what did I do? I made the exact same mistake.

All in all, I didn't really enjoy myself at all, and that makes me a bit sad. What's the point in doing this if I'm not having fun? It's the first gig I've come away from for a while feeling miserable, even the ones that didn't go well.

Bernard Manning's Embassy Rooms

2004-11-22T15:26:00.000Z

It seems I have nothing better to do of a Sunday than go to an Open Mic night in Bristol. Just to watch. The Hatchet pub is the bastard love child of what used to be The Bunch of Grapes. It's a nicer gig actually, but without the foreboding sense that pretty much anything could happen. Nothing trains you up as a comedian better than the appearance of transvestites intent on violence, discharged Squaddies intent on violence, or Historic Battle Re-Enactment Society Members intent on, well, violence.

That said, it's still sometimes a place you witness things you never thought you would at an alternative comedy night. Blatant, undisguised xenophobia. It's disheartening to watch a bloke on stage with a microphone say things like "I'm not a racist" before ploughing head first into some bigotted bullshit with scant clue as to its tone. I'm ashamed to say I didn't react, but proud to say some people did, and booed and jeered. I just buried my head in my hands, somewhat flabbergasted by the whole thing.

On a more positive note, it's nice to watch comedians who you always sensed had great potential starting to move towards fulfilling that potential. Seeing good acts develop into better ones is very satisfying, especially when they don't goose-step onto the stage.

Intent

2004-11-19T13:23:00.000Z

I've done more gigs in a tent than is probably healthy for me. But as tents in pub gardens go, the one I was in last night was quite nice. It even had heaters. As the wind lashed the canvas, and the rain pelted down, it really was the perfect place for comedy.

But to be fair, the setting wasn't really on my mind. The opening act had just done well (and so had the MC too), but I was thrown because of a similarity between a joke of his and mine. His was in a completely different context than mine, with a vastly different set up, but the ultimate punch was pretty much the same. His had also just received a big laugh. So it was tempting to do mine too, not least because mine is a barometer joke, the reaction to which will tell me how well the set is going.

Anyway, I decided to rework the similar joke with something more wordy and gentle. It went okay, but not nearly as well as it would have. That said, the rest of the set was well received, and plenty of people shook my hand afterwards. I never know what to say in those situations. Thanks I guess.

Uncle Sid's Bawdy Blog Of Fun

2004-11-17T15:04:00.000Z

My Uncle Sid has done a runner to stare at penguins or something, and he's left me in charge of his Bawdy Blog of Fun. Anyone else want to contribute some comedy to it? Let me know.

Read it here

Basement Jaxx

2004-11-13T15:08:00.000Z

Not sure why this annoys me so much, but having been to a night of folk music last night, musicians irk me. In a cold basement cellar underneath a back street cafe, is what is actually a nice performance space. And that's where I found myself last night.

Now, what annoys me about musicians is how easy it is for them as opposed to comedy. I know I'm biased, but these bands of bastards can ask all their mates along, get a huge crowd with no effort, then play exactly what they always play. You can't do that with comedy. In fact, band audiences will be disappointed if you don't wheel out the favourites, whereas comedy audiences despise repetition.

And anyway, having heard some "rampant anti-folk" I've decided that simplistic politics doesn't work when set to music. On the other hand, surreal monologue comedy set to music is a sheer joy. A wonderment of delight. On Tuesday I saw Andrew Lawrence do his set at the Richmond Springs in Clifton, and it was awesome. In the old fashioned sense of the word. It made me somewhat ashamed of my surreal monologues, while at the same time inspiring me to write something better. I know I'll fall into the trap of emulation if I do that straight away, so I'll leave it a while.

Begin Again

2004-11-12T14:29:00.000Z

I totally forgot I had this blog. So I suppose I should begin again.

I want to keep adding my thoughts about stand up, plus also have a kind of online diary for the writing projects I am working on.

Things I will begin to mention alongside monkeys in the near future include:

The top secret sitcom project
Milk Run sketches
Shooting Pictures
Live Sketches

I Think It's Called Karma

2002-03-13T20:17:00.000Z

Someone said to me recently that all good gigs are balanced out by bad luck, and vice versa. Unfortunately, he seems to have proved himself right. At Krater Comedy, I had a really fabulous time. Feeling 200 people laughing at everything you say is exactly why I started this in the first place. Four days later, and I am still buzzing about the whole experience. Not even the fact my car blew up on the way home from Brighton has dented it. But now I am without wheels.

My colleague feels he had a less good time at Krater (I disagree), but he found 200 free cigarettes on his way home on the train.

Double Take

2002-03-09T02:41:00.000Z

I was happily driving to Bath on Sunday ... well, cautiously is a better word for it. The engine of my car was making a rather strange tick tick ticking noise that conjured up images of explosions and failed roadside assistance. Either way, the phone rang and within a few minutes I had gone from travelling to Bath for a single gig, to heading that way for two in the space of twenty minutes.

As I weaved my ticking time bomb car around the Bath one way system looking for a parking space (I eventually just left it where it conked out) various things I had heard about doubling up were running through my head. It's probably a cliche, but I have heard enough different people saying to make it likely to be true. The second one almost certainly goes better than the first. Whether this is due to energy levels, or your mind being elsewhere during the first, I don't know.

So, I step up onto stage at the first gig - and ramble far too much. I was still in compere mode I think, wanting to engage the audience and chat a while before doing any material. This was a mistake. In retrospect, I should have kept it tight and punchy. That way, they wouldn't have got bored and stopped listening. As I darted from the room towards the next gig, I thought, "Oh well, at least the second one will go better."

So, I step up onto stage at the second gig - and ramble far too much. I had a lot of energy and I wanted too much to engage the audience and chat a while before doing any material. I actually started punchy, then got lost in my own self-indulgence. I should have kept it tight and punchy. That way, they wouldn't have got bored and stopped listening.

I guess I learnt some things from these two - but I should have learnt them in one gig, not two.

My car is still ticking.

Don't Compere Me To Anyone

2002-03-01T01:58:00.000Z

Hyuck hyuck, gotta love that awful subtitle right? Anyway, as terrible as it may be, it has a point. Actually, no it doesn't. So, um, yeah. No, I know. I was compere for an evening of comedy at The Bunch Of Grapes on Sunday night. I used it to develop my "banter" skills and try alot more improvisation than I normally would get the chance to do.

I also think I may be developing a "catchphrase" of sorts, as much as it pains me. The word "Faaan-tastic" seems to be cropping up more often than it should in my set, and people have started saying it back to me. An odd thing. Bet Paul Whitehouse gets pretty annoyed with it all the time.

But back to the compering. In total, I suspect I managed to be on stage for over twenty minutes, which was heartening because I proved to myself that I certainly can spend a more prolonged time with an audience without them growing to hate me. As in my act, I steered clear of mocking cynicism, and tried to be positive, friendly, and hopefully with a child-like awe of the world. I think it plays well in that it breaks up the tone of the evening. A string of pseudo-intelligent cynics can get very boring I'm sure.

So that's my thoughts.

Sitting On The Sidelines

2002-02-22T01:33:00.000Z

It's been a quiet week on the performance front so far. I did a gig at my regular try out place, the Bunch Of Grapes, which I approached with an attitude of "It's not the end of the world". Tried some new stuff which went fine, but more than anything, I felt comfortable. Confident. Something others noticed too.

Been an interesting week comedy wise, in spite of little or no stage time. I went to two evenings at Jesters to watch, and learnt a great deal on both nights. I find simply watching good comics to be a very fruitful exercise, and I'm not sure it's something that alot of open mic performers do enough. I've seen them leave before the evening is over and the best act has yet to be on. Although you need to be a little selfish about yourself, you can learn alot simply by taking the time to watch and dissect others, at whatever level they are. I find it hard to think that there's nothing I can learn by watching everyone. Anyway, rambling now.

Andrew Maxwell stormed the second night of the two I watched. He completely turned an apathetic Valentine's Day couple mini crowd around. Some of his words will stick with me for a while - "You're nervous? What the fuck for? Are you dying of cancer? No? Then get over it!" to a friend of mine who was about to go on. "Just do your time. That's really all anyone cares about. If you've been asked to do ten, then do ten. And if you die, you die. Die as often as you like, so long as you learn something each and every time you die. I gave up judging myself by the reaction of the crowd. I judge my own performance. It's all a fucking sideshow anyway. The lights, the microphone, the billing. It's a confidence trick. We might just as well roll into town and sell them some magic medicine!"

But most importantly - "I think we should all be wrestlers at some point in our lives!"

I'm eventually going to get off my slack bottom and start running my own fortnightly gig. In preparation for this, I am about to try my hand at being a compere again. That's this Sunday. I'll report back.

The First Rule Of Comedy Club

2002-02-12T01:35:00.000Z

Well, tonight went better than last night. Everything I said just seemed to work throughout my set. In fact, everyone on the bill had a great night. Especially Mr Cognito. A man with a microphone technique that borders on the sublime and an ability to be aggressive and endearing at exactly the same time. His singing voice is lovely too.

It's harder being constructive when it went well. I mentioned Hobbits tonight.

When Quieter Is Louder

2002-02-11T01:56:00.000Z

Just got back from Exeter, where I did the amateur spot for Dave Gardner at the Mud Dock. Went okay, but I didn't feel like I had my normal rhythm. Ah well, try harder tomorrow.

One thing I discovered though (and this may be no great revelation) was this: Some elements of the crowd were chatty at the start of my set, and didn't stop until I actually began to talk more quietly. I guess by having to listen more, the noise died down. Isn't that an old teachers trick?

I mentioned Badgers on stage for the first time ever. Nice.

Guess I Should Post Something Helpful ...

2002-02-09T20:11:00.000Z

... before I begin to drown in my own self-indulgent pomposity, I thought I would try and add something a little more helpful. It's a list of venues that I have played and really enjoyed for various reasons. Wherever possible, I have included a link to the website. Apologies to any non-UK readers as this is of no use whatsoever.

In no particular order: Jesters in Bristol; Kill For A Seat in Oxford, Reading and Birmingham; The Comedy Kav in Birmingham, Laughing Horses across London; The Comedy Clubs in Exeter and Newton Abbot; Komedia in Brighton; Amused Moose in London; and not forgetting the wonderful Bunch Of Grapes in Bristol.

In fact, the Bunch Of Grapes has become one of the most useful and fun places for me to be. It's a free night, with a very supportive promotor and landlord, where it is possible to try out immense amounts of new material week in week out. If you are lucky enough to have a venue where this is possible, then exploit it as much as you can. To have a place where you can hone material which you may not otherwise have a chance to incorporate into your set is invaluable.

Set In My Ways

2002-02-09T19:55:00.001Z

There comes a time in every comedian's life that he will find himself having to perform on a sunny afternoon, to a tent full of festival hippies. This might seem a hard enough experience as it is, but for some reason, I decided to increase the stakes by choosing this place to launch a full new set of material.

It was in the summer, and I can't for the life of me remember why I had chosen to try out a new set, let alone why I decided to do it at the Bristol Community Festival, in a field. I think poets call it 'epiphany' and whisky addled alcoholics call it 'a moment of clarity', but I took a step back and realised that I didn't like hardly any of the material that I was doing.

So, in a rage of insomnia the night before, my mind conjured up reams of stuff that I just felt was better than what I had been doing. So I did it. And unlike my previous stuff, I haven't been bored of it ever since. It's much more free-form, and I have plenty more bits that I can mix and match with. With this new confidence in my stuff, I think I am beginning to be more confident on stage, and I'm pretty sure confidence is one of the biggest factors.

I'm sure this posting has a point, but I'm buggered if I can isolate it right now. It has something to do with Mariah Carey.

(By the way, the gig itself went well)

The Missing Months

2002-02-09T15:47:00.001Z

Feck me to bastard and back. It's been ages since I actually wrote anything on this diary isn't it? So, I guess I'd better fill you in on the intervening months.

I got made redundant from my crappy part-time job. That was a really good thing, because they gave me loads of cash and I haven't had to work since. It also gave me more time and inclination to write and perform. So that's what I've been doing. An awful lot more writing for various shows, plus an awful lot more stand up.

I've also completely re-written my entire set (more on this at a later date). It's now much more akin to the sort of stuff I want to be saying. Before, there was some hack stuff in there, and an over-reliance on nob-gags that just bored me. I think I've improved too. I have much more confidence and I have been much more consistent.

I've also bought a giraffe.

When In Doubt Mention A Monkey

2002-02-07T16:40:00.000Z

Well, welcome to the all new and improved When In Doubt Mention A Monkey diary. A recap of the first nine installments can be found here. The idea from now on, is to have a more fresh and evolving journal of my musings from the world of stand up comedy, hence this new Blogger site. I plan to post something here after most of my "gigs", and hopefully at the times in between too when it takes my fancy. Let's hope it's not too self-indulgent and pretentious.