A Tale Of Two Cities

When I say "cities" I mean "towns" - specifically Stockton and Middlesbrough.  And when I said "a tale" I meant "two gigs".  But Two Gigs In Two Towns doesn't make as good a blog heading, so I'm stealing material from Mr Dickens instead.

My last two gigs couldn't have been more different.  On Friday I played at the Arc in Stockton as part of a Gong Show.  For the uninitiated, this is where a lot of comedians do five minutes material each and try not to get 'gonged off' by the audience before the end.

I got to the Arc about 7.30pm, and was ushered into a very nice green room complete with free drinks and snacks.  One by one the other comedians arrived - 11 gong show contestants in all, plus a support act and the compere.  By the (bad) luck of the draw, I went on last, which meant just before 11pm, giving me plenty of time to tie my stomach into knots with my customary pre-gig nerves.  Fun stuff.

By the time I got on stage, the crowd were well watered and had already gonged several other comedians off.  I went on stage to an audience of around 300 - ten times more than I'm used to playing to - and told my first joke.  A joke that has always gone down well with audiences and comics alike.

Until now.  The joke got me practically booed off stage.  My second joke didn't go down much better, but my third joke had them laughing.  A few more winners and they started applauding.  This was one schizophrenic audience!  They went from one extreme to another over four and a half minutes before I was eventually gonged off.  So close and yet so far.  Still, I did quite well considering it was my fourth-ever gig, and some of of the other acts seemed quite impressed that I would take on such a challenge after relatively little experience.  It was the first time I'd had less than a positive experience on stage, but I think it toughened me up a little bit.

My next gig took place on Tuesday at the Walkabout pub in Middlesbrough, at the Wild Bunch Comedy night.  It couldn't have been more different.  Using just a tiny space in the corner of the upstairs room, myself and the other acts performed to literally a handful of people.  I managed to get myself the first spot (less time for the nerves to kick in) and although quite a few jokes worked (but bizarrely, not the ones that usually do) playing to a room of about eight people still generated more silence than I would have liked.  Pity there wasn't more people, as the room downstairs was packed with people watching football, and I know the promoter works hard to bring live comedy to Middlesbrough at a reasonable price.  Would have been nice if a few more customers had found their way upstairs.

Still, it's all experience (I got my first two reviews at these gigs), and a good introduction to the fickle world of stand-up comedy...

Making Yourself Heard

I once read somewhere that in a survey of people's fears, the fear of public speaking came higher than the fear of dying.  Which, loosely translated, means that at a funeral, most people would rather be in the coffin than delivering the eulogy.

I can relate to that.  I spent most of my 37 years on this rock actively trying to AVOID public speaking.

And then I became a stand-up comedian.  Probably the worst job in the world for somebody who hates speaking in front of people (not that it is a job - yet).  Not only do you have to talk to strangers (something my mother told me never to do, although I was only five at the time) but you actually have to make them laugh.

This is my worst nightmare.  So why do stand-up then, as more than one person has asked me since I started telling jokes.  Well, two reasons.  One, because you should always try to face your fears, whatever they are.  And two, because I love comedy and have wanted to do this for many years, I just lacked the courage to do it.

I learned the hard way that avoiding risk leads to an unfulfilled life.  I was stuck in rut, miserable, depressed and without hope.  And then I took the biggest risk of my life: I quit my job, sold my house, got rid of nearly all my possessions and travelled around Australasia on my own for three months.  Best thing I ever did.  While I was in Queenstown, NZ - the extreme sports capital of the world, mind you - I bungee jumped 47 metres off a bridge towards an icy river.  Second best thing I ever did.  And when I came home again, I was a different person.  A better person.

But I still hadn't conquered all my fears.  When the opportunity came along to try radio presenting, I shied away and stayed behind the scenes as a producer.  When the opportunity came along to join a comedy workshop which concluded in performing a five-minute set, I turned it down.  Everything that I desperately wanted to try, I was turning down because I was too scared of failure.

Then one day, I just said 'fuck it, it's time to give it a go'.  I wrote enough material to feel confident about, and despite being overcome with terrible nerves backstage, I did it.  And then I did it again.  Last night I did it for a third time.  I still get nervous, but I also enjoy being up there in the moment.

Last week I spent two and a half days on a training course for a job I never got (long story, don't get me started...) and most of it consisted of getting up and talking about myself, selling myself, etc.  It was still terribly difficult to do, even after performing stand-up twice, and I hated every minute of it.

I just hope it gets easier over time, and that the nerves will eventually diminish, if not disappear altogether.  Because if I'm still as nervous on my 50th gig as I was on my first, it's time to do something else.

And I have no bloody idea what that might be...

Like a Red rag to a Bull

Luke opened another can of energy drink.  It was his third that morning and it wasn’t even 9 a.m.   He would routinely down can after can of that shit like it was about to be made illegal.  Which, if the rumours were to be believed, might not be too far from the truth.

The caffeine backlash had begun in earnest some months back and had quickly gained momentum, like a giant snowball made up of overly concerned parents and healthcare professionals looking to get their mugshots on TV.  Get a grip, thought Luke, it’s just a fucking stimulant.  He didn’t smoke or drink, yet everyone from his mother to his boss was all over him to quit the caffeine.  You drink endless cups of coffee but I can’t have my bit of harmless fun?  We’re just trading vices, after all.

Luke took a big swig then belched long and loud.  An old woman tutted disapprovingly as she walked past, but he just smirked.  His stomach growled a little.  It had been doing that a lot lately.  Fuck it, mused Luke, I’m just hungry.  He ignored the pain in his belly and quickened his pace.

The late nights were beginning to take their toll, judging by the ever-increasing circles around his eyes.  The sleepless nights were fuelled by endless worry about his long-term future, and he needed at least three energy hits in the morning just to function like a normal human being.

Luke drained his can and threw it into the nearest bin.  That was the last of his stash.  Better get another case from the store when I get my paper.   Luke suddenly felt like running, and sprinted along the street like an Olympian.  For nearly thirty seconds.  Then his heart skipped a beat and he quickly had to grab onto a lamp post to avoid crashing to the pavement.  Bent double, Luke gasped valiantly for breath and eventually calmed down.  If that’s what exercise does for you, you can keep it.

He gingerly made his way to the store.  His heart was pounding, his mind racing and the nervous tension in his stomach was getting worse.  Maybe he should just get a small case of energy drinks this time.

Inside the store, Luke made his way to the drinks aisle.  One the way, he picked up his usual red-top Sunday newspaper.  The headline instantly caught his eye: ENERGY DRINKS PROVEN TO CAUSE MASSIVE HEALTH RISKS – TO BE RECALLED IMMEDIATELY.

Luke slowly digested the information, then looked up at the drinks cabinet and found it half empty, devoid of his favourite drinks.

Looks like the party’s over, thought Luke, and picked up a six-pack of Coke instead.

Can You See Our Bee?

The comedy-tragedy that is my life took another bizarre turn today.

I applied for a job in Middlesbrough on Tuesday for a temporary Data Entry Clerk.  The recruitment agency responsible for the contract rang me back to express an interest in taking me on.  So I went in on Wednesday to register my details, back in on Thursday for an interview with the client, and then once more this morning to start the job.

However, when I get there, I'm greeted by a small bunch of other unhappy temps and a grim-faced line manager, who asked me if I had a CRB background check.  I told him no, and he told me he coudn't hire me as it was a requirement.  At no point in the hiring process did anybody tell me I needed a CRB.  Just the opposite, in fact; the agency asked me the question and I replied in the negative.  And now the agency and the client are blaming each other for the mistake, and I'm back to square one.

It's not bad enough that I spent nearly £15 and over 6 hours on bus journeys, but I actually had to go to Middlesbrough three days in a row, which is a fate I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy...

The bigger question, however, is: why does a keyboard-basher need a CRB check?  Is it in case I've ever been convicted of data rape?