my first gig, by neil, age 37½ (at the time)… Part Two
Published by on June 27th, 2006
Previously in this story: I got a gig, I stood up and sometime about half way though I went blank. And now… the conclusion…
Silence really is deafening. There has already been a good hour and a half of me standing up at the carpet (stage) hoping desperately for some interuption of biblical proportions to avoid my unavoidable descent into standup comedy oblivion. OK, so it has been but a mild sprinkling of seconds, but trust me when I say that time really is measured by the perception of those in distress.
My saviour was a curly permed, bottle tanned figure with his back to me, ordering a drink. His t-shirt sported a large and machine wash faded representation of some pseudo tribal tattoo design.
A thought formed into words. Oh shit, they’ve already spilled from my mouth and are out there fending for themselves in the unpredictable world of the comedy audience.
There is a god: there was a laugh.
I still wish I could remember what came out. With the silence gloriously broken, the benefit those hours of rehearsal kicked back in and I ran with the routine until my stage time ran out (just before the ultimate punchline… argh!).
I didn’t do great; I did OK. Just one decent laugh on your very first five minutes will do just fine - don’t be setting your goals too high. I managed more than one, perhaps as many as four. What was interesting looking back was the best laugh - the one to inspire my return for further punishment (you know, just like that one great shot in a golf game that keeps you returning for more ball whacking humiliation) - was the one torn out of desperate necessity and from a moment of inspiration. All those created through hours of writing and rehearsing were irrelevant in comparison. Thus began my journey, though I never realised it at the time, to discover that the far more dangerous world of the compere was to be my destiny.
There’s a life lesson in there somewhere, disguised as a hapless, meandering turnip.
