April 10th, Thursday. Gig no.9, Freedom Fridge, Torrianos

OK this is gonna be a short one. After a quick hour and a half travelling to this gig I find it is in a dank basement. Nice enough room for comedy, but for allergic asthmatics like me? I could feel the damp and the mold wheedling it’s way into my sinuses immediately and needed to get out of there quick. Thankfully I was on third, so I very gratefully got on and got off and got out. Basements are a concern, a lot of gigs are in basements. A few months ago I slept next to some mold and now all of a sudden I’m a wheezy little asthmatic gimp. I try and rehearse my stuff at home and find myself coughing my guts out. Also, in my act I do quite a lot of screaming and crying so my throat is fucked afterwards. I probably need a voice coach to get me to use my voice properly. But that’s all boring technical stuff, what do you really want to hear about?
“You dying on your arse!” I hear you all shout, cackling in unison
I’ve covered that subject (extensively), so you can all fuck off.
Lets talk about the screaming and crying. I have one or two little bits that call for me to sulk and cry like a child. And inevitably, it ends up with some screaming. I tried one bit for the first time tonight, and it ‘nearly’ went over. Almost. Not quite. It’s always a bit of a risk doing these things. The main risk being, if it doesn’t work, you look a right nob. Secondly, you tear your throat out. Is it worth it? For normal people, no. For a stand up, no. For me? No. But I take it anyway. Why? I’ve got no choice. My creative juices always seem to run off the side of the plate onto the worktop and down onto the floor. (Not sure what the fuck I’m on about here, but lets run with it). Yes, thats what my act is: Gravy.

Anyway, today’s a short one, I’m fucking busy. There’s a big fly in the room, and I have to kill it.

Gig No.9 done. Two of three promoters