Archive 30th January 2013 - Islington

Show Report Wednesday 30th January 2013

Islington, London.

Prelude

Comedians are fond of telling audiences that “This is the weirdest gig

ever” usually in response to someone heckling, going to the toilet, a

man blows his nose into a handkerchief or a glass is accidentally

knocked over and rattles. “This is the weirdest gig ever”. The

something that happens usually falls comfortably within the remit of

the job description. The average walk down the high street is weirder

than a weird gig. Gigs are never the weirdest gig ever. That said

tonight’s gig is weird and may be my weirdest gig ever. At points I

don’t feel like a comedian at all, I feel like a ringmaster trying to

co-ordinate a shambles. At the end of the gig a woman will shout out

“But you held it all together” and perhaps that is the sum of what I

do tonight.

Before Gig

I enter the venue. A standard bar, slightly chainy feeling, slightly

corporate. Plush but soulless. They have booths. They serve food.

Through the back is the function room. As I enter the function room

there is an abrupt change of atmosphere. It doesn’t have poles for

pole dancers but it does have neon signs showing women in various

states of undress. It does have mirrors on the ceilings and curtained

off booths – presumably for reclusive drinkers. It also has mirrors at

45 degree angles so you can see your own lap in front of you. It also

has a mattress in an alcove. I imagine some Islington version of Tony

Soprano hanging out here and doing - - whatever. There is a small

audience and they seem friendly and intelligent.  There are two Greek

women in the audience. One of them explains to the compere that

boilers in Greek homes can set the house on fire if left on. She

further explains that Greek women often use the excuse “I have left

the boiler on” to avoid or halt certain unfavourable sexual encounters

which is interesting.

During Gig.

So I come on stage. It all seems so routine at the start. I talk about

the sexual overtones of the room. I do some material about not

drinking. The opening is conventional enough. There is no hint of what

is to come. A girl in the audience talks to her friend. It is audible

so I stop to find out what is going on. She has a Spanish accent. I

call her Spanish. She corrects me.  She is Greek. Apparently what she

has is a Greek accent. She is the Greek girl who was talking earlier

about boilers. I knew she was Greek but my instincts told me she was

Spanish and so I disregarded this information in place of blind

prejudice. I went with my gut which is obviously racist. I say, “I am

obviously a racist”. It gets me out of that hole for the time being.

So I go back into material, Facebook. I start to talk about Facebook.

A man comes into the gig late as he has been in the toilet. “How’s it

going?”, he asks. “Alright so far” I answer. “He’s Scottish", heckles

the Greek girl.  So I have to put that fire out then back to the

material. “So the thing about Facebook…blah…blah…blah.” Somebody

receives a text message and I feel the first real hint of irritation

stirring in me. Can’t people switch off their phones?  I plough back

into the Facebook stuff but it feels that the momentum has now gone

out of the gig; there have been too many interruptions. I talk about

relationship break-ups and how you get to know people and their

vulnerabilities and how you could sell this information when you break

up. Some laughter now. Good, this thing is starting to build again. I

can claw this back from all the interruptions at the start. “Beep-

beep” another text message arrives. Now I am getting pissed off. Can

this person not switch off their phone? Didn’t they get the hint? Now

the Greeks are chatting. What is it? Are they translating for each

other or are they just bored and chatting amongst themselves? The

relatively small size of the audience makes their chatting all the

more annoying. I think it’s ratios. 10% of my audience are chatting.

It's so damn rude. I tell them so. I shut down the Greeks chatting.

Now another girl is chatting to the man next to her. I don’t know if

she is foreign or not. She may be German. She may be English. I will

never know. I am not about to make another mistake about nationality

by guessing her country of origin. I tell her not to chat. Not in a

witty way, just a matter of fact way. God I sound like a schoolteacher. This

is not the way to do it. Focus, focus, back into material. Let’s talk

about giving up sugar. So now I talk about sugar but I can feel myself

getting annoyed. Some line has been crossed now. I have not lost my

temper yet although looking back, it was inevitable from this point.

Now the phone, the same phone that received the previous text

messages, starts ringing. “Turn off the phone!” I tell the Greek girl

but it is not her phone it is somebody else’s. This is the first

moment a little demon whispers to me “walk off stage. Just walk off.

You’ve had enough.”  But I don’t listen to it.

“I just want to get a fucking beer,” yells the Greek girl. She is

annoyed about been wrongly blamed for the phone. She stomps off to the

bar.  Fuck this. This is pointless. This gig is fucked.

I’ve  never walked off stage in my life. I've been booed off stage. I have

been ejected from stage by the audience. But I have never left

voluntarily before my time is done. I have never quit. I have seen

other people walk off stage and I don’t like it. I consider it

unprofessional and stroppy. I don’t admire that kind of behaviour. But

now I think I might walk off. It comes in waves like nausea. It rises

and then abates. Maybe it’ll be Ok? Maybe I will stay? I think I am

over it now. No I am not over it. Here it comes again and this time I

think I might leave. The debate is now raging in my head. Should I

stay or should I go? I don’t know if the audience can see that I am

contemplating leaving?

We are ten minutes in. Now the girl who may be German or not is

chatting to the man next to her. Maybe there is a translation issue

here? Maybe there is a communication breakdown? But I feel the couple

are mocking me for the shambles that the gig has become. I think I am

now definitely going to walk off. It must be obvious to them now; I do

a walk about the stage. I seem to remember sighing and looking off to

the side. I contemplate the future of this gig. I should stay and see

it through. I’ve had to deal with far worse. No, don’t give up. I am

definitely going to say and see it through.  At the moment I talk

myself into staying it swings the other way. “I don’t know if I want

to do this anymore” I tell them. I teeter on the brink of walking off.

“No stay “ they say. But as the last act, I am all they have now. They

would say that wouldn’t they? I sit down on the stage. This seems to

make it more intimate and gets their attention. The Greek girl brings

me a beer and sits it on the stage next to me. “I don’t usually drink

but I may tonight.” I have no intention of drinking but I want to

acknowledge the kind gesture.

“No” “Stop” “Don’t do it” The audience clamber to stop me drinking.

They think I’m an alcoholic on the brink of falling off the wagon.

They see what they’ve driven me to. Suddenly we've bonded. They feel

they’ve saved me and now have a vested interest in me continuing. I am

going to stay. I hand the beer back to the Greek girl. But now SHE

takes umbrage. She cannot understand why I don’t want to drink. Why

would anyone not want to drink? I have to placate her. Now she’s

upset. This could all slide again. I promise to accept a Lindt

chocolate in place of the beer. I eat the chocolate while talking with

my mouth full. It has a caramel centre. Yum. I sit on the stage and do

another 15 minutes from there.

After Gig

Contrary to walking off I have in fact stayed longer than I was booked

For, representing an opposite but equal level of unprofessionalism. I

don’t want to think about this gig in retrospect.  Analysising it

would be pointless and may upset me. It was the weirdest gig ever.