May 6th, Tuesday. Gig No.29, Bear Funny, Pub on the Green, London Fields

Another gig with 'Bear' in the title. Bears seem to be quite popular amongst the comedy promoting community. Maybe they all had a meeting and decided that from now on, all comedy clubs must have the word 'Bear' in the title. Naturally comedy is full of rebels so only one or two have actually complied. I get the feeling I'm going to piss off another couple of promoters with this opening paragraph. (Please don’t get pissed off, I've written it in service of a larger point. And in case anyone‘s interested, there‘s only one other gig with 'Bear' in the title, and that’s just a coincidence. There’s a lot more comedy clubs names with the word 'Comedy' in it. Now THATS a fucking liberty.)

That's the problem with this blog. It's public. Promoters are reading it. I am pissing people off, and getting less gigs as a result. So what do I do? Do I be honest, and say what I really think? That would be more interesting for the readers. Or do I turn this into a sanitised bullshit rag, giving 5 star reviews to shithole clubs, buttering up promoters to win favour and an extra gig or two?

Well. This challenge is all about doing 365 gigs in 1 year. I need all the gigs I can get. That is the primary goal. I am doing a gigging challenge, not a blogging challenge. Keeping you lot interested is not the goal. And, lets face it, you’re not on my side. You don't want to read about one's unbridled success. You want to read about the fuck ups, the arguments, the needle infested toilets that I have to crawl through just to get one more mark on my Blue Peter thermometer, one more notch on my gig sex bed post. (I have no idea what that means). The cocks we have to suck to get ahead in this business - you would not fucking believe. Oh, the HORROR, the HORROR. (That's an Apocalypse Now reference. Ironically I've shaved my hair off so actually look like Brando in it. I’m fat now too. A fat gut and a bald head. You can smell the self loathing. Now I know why he made necklaces out of people's ears)

So, from now on, believe nothing you read. Everything here is a lie. Every promoter I meet is a comedy love God, and all their gigs are like fucking Vegas. Tonights gig, what can I say. I walked in there and they swept me up on a golden throne, carried me along in triumphant fanfare, in a glorious procession of naked adulation, with hundreds of giggling servant girls showering me with chocolate nipples.

No it didn't. Honestly? It was a nice little room actually. In a pub next to a large park with some cool multi leveled outdoor decking for food and sunshine. The room again principally made up of other acts, but a decent space and a supportive vibe. I hope I'm allowed back, as it's an ideal room for experimentation. I really do need to experiment a lot for a while, and find a way to make what I'm doing work properly. If the promoter thinks I was too weird, don’t worry, I can dial it down - one is perfectly capable of being normal. Now I'm off to chop the ears off dead people.

Gig No.29 done. Promoter Andy Quirk