April 7th. Gig No.6. Nice N Spiky, Regents Pub

Mmm. OK. Died on my arse. Went down to total earth shattering, awe inspired silence. Yes I went on 2nd. Yes, it was a dry, quiet, sober room. But I’ve seen enough comedy to know good ideas, good jokes and good acts can always wrestle laughs out of those situations. (I tried getting laughs by actually wrestling the front row. Headlocks don’t seem to go down too well) I’ll be honest, I’ve had some pretty seriously average gigs since I’ve started, including all the warm up gigs before I started the challenge. I’ve done 17 gigs this year, and I don’t think I did really well at any of them. When I was gigging regularly in the old days I would either go down really well or extremely horribly. (At least I thought I did - but all new acts think they’ve stormed it when they get a laugh. The newer and more naive you are, the bigger the laughs sound in your head - they sound HUGE. They sound like tidal waves of collective hysteria. But as you get more experienced, the sound diminishes, until your ears slowly reacquaint themselves with reality) This time round, I’ve been staggeringly, consistently mediocre. This challenge is getting pretty tough already. Not physically, just having to deal with the psychologically fracturing possibility that I‘ve been deluding myself for oooh, what, 20 years? That I’ve spent half my life lying to myself! When I was a wee boy/pretentious little shit, I was encouraged to pursue my skills in acting and became thoroughly certain I would one day become a substantial and highly successful actor. It would happen. I would one day be lounging on film sets in the Caribbean, dining in 5 star restaurants overlooking Central Park, slurping 500 dollar oysters from flamingo beaks, signing autographs and ordering the masseuse to toss me off. 20 years later, I’m 6 gigs into a stand up comedy challenge and wondering what the fuck happened. Where did my dreams go? They’re being crushed in the onslaught of my own maggoty ineptitude. This challenge was about finally being consistent and dogged enough to push through the barriers and finally actually start fulfilling my potential but what if I didn’t have any potential in the first place? What if I was misled? What if I was overly encouraged by one or two well meaning teachers and, actually, I should have been a shelf stacker? I’m really good at shelf stacking too. I can whip up a tidy shelf like a mad dog, yo. (If you are a teacher, do NOT encourage your kids. Do NOT tell them to reach for the stars. Tell them they are distinctly average and the best they can hope for is stunning pigs or washing dishes for 3p an hour.) I’ve casually and obstinately dismissed all other possibilities for a career for 20 years and bull headedly insisted that I WOULD BE AN ACTOR AND A COMEDIAN, and it would DEFINITELY HAPPEN. NO, I don't want to 'get a trade'. NO, I don't want to 'have a safety net'. NO, I don't want you to 'touch my knee'. (Sorry, wrong flashback) Like Harvey Keitel’s pastor in From Dusk Til Dawn I ask myself, “Am I a fool?” Have I dedicated my whole life to a foolish dream? Then I stock up on some garlic and wooden stakes and go to war with the undead heathen hoardes. I will do anything to protect my hot daughter and my Chinese son. Someone asked me what comedians go through when they die on their arse, well, this is what I go through - Self loathing and existential crisis. Have I blown it? Have I flushed life down the toilet in pursuit of some ridiculous illusive pipe dream, that we can all grow up and become film stars? Maybe failure is it’s way of helping you see the light, through the fog of your own lifelong delusions? I have two options. Stop fannying on about it and keep bludgeoning on through this, or, the last thing I said onstage tonight: “Well I’ve learnt a few things tonight, mainly - give up comedy”. Ironically that got a laugh.

Gig No.6 done. Promoters Clara Electra + Richard Dellow