Monday 10 January 2005

Career in crisis? I wouldn't go that far but it's been a difficult weekend.
Saturday, as you know I was "doubling up". I went to the last venue first, to check out the route and to sort out the sound etc. The place was in total darkness as there had been a power cut, this didn't augur well for the night ahead. I scooted off to Burnley to a lovely venue, The Inn on the Wharf, to do a wedding. I hate doing weddings, they're usually full of kids and relatives who've not seen each other in years. This was different. The couple had banned kids and they asked for my set to be "adult", whatever that means. It was a lovely little gig, I swore once, heard the sharp intake of breath from the oldies, so went on to do a nice gentle half hour, with some banter and audience participation. 25 minutes later I was in Clitheroe to do the second job. It was an annual bash for a load of building workers and their wives. The electricity was back on, they were all seated in anticipation I strode on stage confidently only to die on my big black arse! There are often reasons/excuses for dying (and it's only happened a handful of times to me) but those reasons/excuses don't come into play this time. They hated me, from their first look at me, they hated me! I don't know what it was but even the banker gags were falling flat. I had that familiar feeling of nausea, a dry mouth and I struggled with what to do next. I cut it short, said goodnight (to loud cheers and "get of man your crap!") and then had to find the MD of the company to ask for my fee. Surely the most humiliating part of the night! It certainly brought Mr. Ego down to earth.
I was up early on Sunday to travel to one of my favourite gigs. The Variety Club, Nottingham has the reputation of being a comedians graveyard. It's recently changed ownership and the crowds are only just starting to return. I died on my big black arse! They wouldn't listen, they talked continuously through my short spot. I walked off in disgust, was persuaded back on then walked off again! Some bright spark thought it funny to mention that £100 per minute isn't a bad wage.."then you fucking do it" was my less than gracious reply.
So am I losing it? I doubt it, maybe I've gone soft, preferring the cabaret setting to my bread and butter of the cut and thrust of pub gigs. I cut my teeth in front of rowdy audiences, I can handle them. Possibly I've moved onwards and upwards (that ego again), possibly it was just a couple of bad gigs. Unfortunately I've got a few days off when I really need to get back in the saddle (so to speak).
I am one of the best comics of my genre, I will bounce back..you just wait and see!
FTM!