As a would be comedian there is no greater feeling than smashing a gig, nothing is sweeter than tearing the roof off.
All your hard work, skilfully written jokes and intelligent humour landing and being lapped up by a savvy audience.
It's such a great feeling when everything you say makes them laugh, when everyone is on board, members of the audience want to do sex to you, the venue manager is contemplating doubling your fee and all the other acts want to high five you and bask in your greatness.
You are carried out of the venue by cheering fans who all add you on Facebook follow you on Twitter and read your blog, they chant your name, you have a statue erected in the town and never need to pay for a drink there again!
It's wonderful to know everything went as it should and you return to the green room like George Peppard addressing the rest of the A-Team cigar in hand "I love it when a plan comes together" you even imagine yourself in a helicopter or as your mind now wanders to the A-Team's antics, you see yourself making a tank from 9 screws a vaccum cleaner , some corrugated iron and an 87 beetle... You can do anything now!
Being funny; and on purpose is brilliant, it's what everyone one of us needy, attention seeking, low self esteem, shit spewing, show offs desire and oh wow when you bring the house down its great.......
But no one cares about that, because from time to time a comedian has to die on their arse!
Oh and I did so recently, I have no excuses, it was a nice gig, great room, well run, good MC, strong act before me.... Everything was perfect until calamity Jim lifted the mic from the stand and began talking.
I should have stayed at home, it was one of THOSE days that no one really knows what kind of a day it actually is or why it happens but it just does.
I may as well have written on a sandwich board "I'm fucking useless" and walked up and down Leeds but I'd have probably tripped over my own feet and set fire to myself outside a fire station that already has all their staff dealing with an explosion somewhere (most likely my house as I'd probably left the gas on)
I had started by getting up late and going to the day job in odd and not necessarily clean socks, look I know not all of us put fresh socks on every day but these were so bad I could hear them humming.
I was 10 mins late to work on a day that was busier than normal meaning I was already on the back foot and had to stay later causing a knock on effect which meant I was late getting set off to the gig.
Late meant traffic.... Nothing is more fuelling of my borderline misanthropy than being sat in a car going 7 miles an hour in the fast lane of a motorway...... If we had Chinese 1 baby rules half of these cretins in my way would have been bagged in latex long before they developed their miserable lives, learnt to drive, bought cars and got in my bleedin way!
Now I'm being cantankerous too, someone wanted to cut in front of me and for no reason I've decided this in unacceptable, I'm driving as close to the car in front as possible so have can eat my slow moving dust.
The gentleman in question seems to be waving, I'm not sure as I refuse to look at him as he doesn't exist and the maracas shaking mine that I think he's doing is a little wrong but no time for this my junction is in 12 miles and sat nav is laughing at how long it's taking me to get there.
I arrive at the gig, I've forgotten my watch so I need my phone up on the stage to time me as in very used to doing 20 mins or MC duties these days and my timings for a 10 spot are a bit off.
I've somehow missed a tuft of hair shaving and while no one seems to have noticed, I'm aware and it's causing me to scratch the area when talking to someone.
I said hello to Gavin and chatted to him for 15 mins before someone else joined and it became clear he is actually called Ian... Close then!!
I ordered a drink and paid for it before being told acts get drinks free, it's not going well!!
Then the gig starts, MC does a fantastic job, opening act goes out and smashes it, he literally (now that literally means figuratively) brought the house down.... Which I swiftly managed to put back up.
All that lazy half assed work, poorly written jokes and childish humour being seen through by a stupid audience!!!
You it's an awful feeling when no one is on board! Throat getting dry, feeling smaller and smaller, moving to the back of the stage, talking faster.... It's not working!
The audience want to stab me, the manager is contemplating halving my fee, the other acts don't want to come near me in case the shittyness infects them!
I hate it when a plan fails miserably, fuck the 11 o clock rule I want to spend the entire next day eating chocolate and drinking gin, I don't even like gin but I must be punished for having existed in the 1st place!
And now, the condescension that you can't even get angry at as they mean well; "tough crowd" "it happens to us all" "it wasn't that bad" piss off and let me rot in my own pool of bitterness you fucknuggets !!
But of course they are trying to help so you smile and make excuses; "it was a new bit" (it's been new for 3 years) "I was feeling ill" so?
These stage deaths that are totally our own fault are exactly why when an act smashes a gig they are entitled to sing about it, no matter how much so though, I guarantee that every Facebook post of celebration is met by acts thinking "Piss off you self flagellating prick" because no matter how much we want comedy to thrive, we want to be seen as better than the 9 zillion other acts out there, but feck it comedy is fun, so I'm going to keep on enjoying the ride even if I have had more deaths than Bill Paxton characters
