Preparation for the gig was fairly relaxed as I was largely performing tried and tested material, which I know like the back of my hand (or so I thought). There were a few tweaks to a couple of bits, but overall I was pretty confident with the set list, which was:

1. “I’m sat at a desk..” Previously only performed at Gig 25.
2. My “this really shifty looking bloke came up to me and pointed at my wrist…” bit (previously know as “the joke that unjusticely got me gonged off at Beat The Frog” (Gig 12))
3. The “Can’t Fight The Moonlight” bit.
4. The “Arnie\Controversial-Incomplete Joke” bits that have been in pretty much all my straight stand up sets.  There was a bit of a change to the ending of the “incomplete” part, inspired by last week’s tweaked version for Beat The Frog (Gig 29).
5. New joke “So she lost her job…” Although this was new I’d tried it out on a couple of people and felt confident that it would get some kind of laugh.
6.. My “Personal” bit, plus a bit of “Personal Bit 2″ from Gig 27.  On doing a timed run through, I needed a couple of extra minutes and decided that the first part of “Personal Bit 2″ would fit nicely.  There are a few points in it where there are quite natural breaks, so I could always drop bits depending on how time was running.
7. Short play “One Day in Liverpool.”  This has worked really well in Gig 26 and Gig 28, so I thought I’d give it a whirl in a straight set.  It seemed a nice way to finish.

I got a bit nervous on the afternoon of the gig – I think because it was a gig I’d never done before and there was the element of the unknown. I’d calmed down by the time it came to perform, though, and was really looking forward to it.  There wasn’t a huge audience, but the first three bits went down OK – not great – but I felt it was fine given the audience size.  I then got to the Arnie stuff, which isn’t my cleverest but of material, but generally gets a decent laugh, and it got no reaction whatsoever.  It was certainly disconcerting.  Although it’s amazing your stuff goes down a storm, it’s still perfectly fine when you get muted laughter, but nothing at all is a nightmare.  It makes you realise how much the material relies on some response from the crowd and that without it your rhythm and timing become completely shot.

I ploughed on with the tweaked “incomplete joke”, but I really didn’t get any reaction from this point onwards.  The nadir of the set came early on into the “personal bit”.  As I was starting off, someone on the front row’s phone fell out of his pocket and onto the floor.  I instictively felt like I should reference it, which I did, but it threw my timing and, combined with the blank faces, I think I made a bit of a hash of the subsequent bit.  Directly following on from this is a part where I start explaining my feelings on something and this builds up into something of a rant, but, by this stage, I was sufficiently put off that it didn’t really flow as it should.  The punchline to that rant, is actually the start of the next bit and that also got no reaction.  It was at this point that I forgot what to say next.

Now, I’ve done this section on stage a number of times and probably at least a hundred times in practice.  I could probably do it in my sleep, but on this occasion it completely disappeared.  The fact that I conscious of how well I knew the bit, somehow made things worse, and less likely that I would remember. I was genuinely panicking but then I kept repeating the line to stall and because it was the thing to do that made me laugh most.  It perhaps wasn’t the best way to react but I kind of liked the honesty and lack of slickness of it.  My mind was also reeling at this point; I couldn’t decide whether to ditch the thread and try and just do something else or whether to try and stick with it.  The decision was made more difficult because the personal bit all flows, so it’s not like I could skip to a later section of it and it still make sense. In hindsight, I should have perhaps just said that I knew it wasn’t working and then dived into my joke book (which I had in my pocket as a security blanket).  But, I didn’t.  Eventually the line came back to me, but the performance was all very half-hearted from then on.  ”Luckily”, I had used so much time up in forgetting that I didn’t have time to try any of “personal bit 2″.  I ended with the play (to little reaction) and was pleased to get off.

When I died in my first handful of gigs, it was soul-destroying. Now that I have slightly more experience and have done a number of successful gigs, it’s still horrible but I’m able to deal with it relatively easily. I think it does dent the confidence a bit, but it’s also a really good leaning experience. It also highlights how much I still have to learn, particularly in how to deal better with cocking up and having different material to fall back on.  The question that always strikes me in this situation is how can material that has worked so well on other occasions fail so badly? (truly baffling)

It struck me last night that the audience members will have left the gig thinking that I’m awful, and they probably would not be able to believe that the same material has worked really well in front of other audiences.  It’s all a very strange business.

The set for this gig was going to be largely the same as last week, with a couple of exceptions.  Firstly, I changed my opening (again), going back to more or less my original “Picasso” opener.  After realising that I couldn’t start with a direct question, I tried to tweak last week’s opener by reframing it.  However, this just led me to completely lose faith in it.  For inspiration, I looked back at my notes for Gig 2 (so far my most successful performance, which is a little depressing) and I realised that I opened with a gag that led into the Picasso bit.  I duly decided to do this.

The other change was that I would not read the “play” from a piece of paper to see if it would aid the performance – and I went back to the play from Gig 8 as it was set in Liverpool and so played the local knowledge card.

Aside: Strangely, in my gig report from last week, I mentioned that I might stop reading the plays from paper because it didn’t seem to work, but, in the comments on the post, Dannie, “the lovely young German lady” from the audience, said that she liked that I read from the paper.  Trying to make sense of this comedy lark is a nightmare.

I had a pretty busy weekend, so didn’t have much time to practice, but at this stage I know all this shizzle pretty well.  That is until I get to the venue, of course, when I feel like I’ve forgotten it all. It’s a horrible feeling, but luckily, so far, it’s always come back to me when I step on stage.

Comedy Knight is an alternative comedy (i.e. sketches and characters, as well as stand up) night held at Mello Mello in Liverpool.  It’s a lovely studenty type venue with a proper stage to make you feel like you’re Live at the Apollo (maybe I’m exaggerating).

There were 9 acts scheduled to perform but, incredibly, 6 dropped out.  Yes, 6.  That’s two thirds.  Totally unacceptable. The three acts that were left were Matty Delaney (who I believe was performing his first gig, but I could be wrong), Me and resident sketch group Legion of Doom.  Fortunately, there was an actual audience, so we pressed on.

As I sat waiting to go on, I came to the realisation that I was probably old enough to be most of the audience’s dad.  I’m exaggerating, but only slightly.  What should have been a low pressure set, in a lovely venue with a nice audience, now became a pressure cooker of terror as I desperately reeled through the myriad of cultural references that I’d use that they’d be too young to get.  In the end, I decided to just plough on and make the occasional reference to the age inappropriateness of my material.

As is becoming the norm for my self-reviews, it went “OK”.  I find it genuinely hard to judge, and if you don’t absolutely kill it, how do you rate the performance?  Some jokes got big laughs all round. Some bits got good laughs from some sections of the audience and not a lot from others.  Some bits got good laughs from audience members I wouldn’t have expected them too and not a lot from audience members I might have.  All in all, it went OK.

Oh, I should probably mention.  The opening is still a bit obtuse, but I’m sure there’s a way I can make it work.  I just don;t know what it is yet.  Thinking cap to the ready.  The short play definitely flowed better without the paper, but perhaps lost a bit of its charm.  I think the Liverpool play might have worked better from paper, but the one I did last week better without.

After I’d finished, I went into my usual bipolar mindset.  Half of me thought: “I’m shit.  I need to throw away all my material and start again.”  The other half of me thought: “He he, that was amazing.  I loved it and doing all the stuff that I think is funny. He he.”  I have issues.

When the show was over, I was approached by an audience member, who also happened to be an open mic comic, who gave me some positive feedback.  A bit of feedback makes all difference, and not in an ego stroking way.  It’s just nice to know you’re doing something right when you only think you’re doing OK.

Comedy Knight was fun, despite the dirty drop-outs and I suspect that it’s a different beast when the students are in town. I’d love to give it a go then, although perhaps in character and perhaps with some more up to date cultural references.

P.s.

I’ve just remembered the best bit.  The biggest laugh came when I used my favourite and only modern cultural reference.  It usually doesn’t work with people who have jobs.  God bless the students.

I didn’t know anything about the show beforehand other than its basic premise and that Jason Manford was the host, so I was surprised to find out that the winner would get £100,000, a “nationwide tour” and a DVD release before Christmas. It’s certainly an impressive prize, but seems an awful lot of pressure for the winner to live up to.

I’m not sure quite how they chose the contestants.  They ranged from seasoned pros like Rudi Lickwood and Patrick Monahan – both well-established comics from the circuit – to newcomer (and “ex-model”) Ellie Taylor, who’s only been going for 18-months. On the face of it, this seems like a hairdressing contest that pitted a 17-year old apprentice against Vidal Sassoon.

The format is that every week each comic will perform a 5-minute set of new material, which is tailored towards the week’s “tough audience” (this week a group of scouse women).  They are then judged by a panel – Alan Davies, Kate Copstick and a guest (this week Jimmy Tarbuck) – and one is voted off.

So, was it any good?  I guess you have to judge it on two levels: did I learn anything about comedy and did it work as a reality show?

The reality show aspect was a bit of a mess.  They had the contestants completing “tasks” – finding someone called Michelle, arranging a blind date, working in a hairdresser’s and other traditional scouse activities – which were completely irrelevant.  The scant justification for the tasks is that it’s supposed to generate material – and some of the acts managed to do this – but it felt completely tacked on to make it more like The Apprentice.

The other major problem is that not enough time was spent watching the routines.  We probably saw 60-90 seconds of each, and this was chopped up to ruin any flow.  A comedy set has a structure and it’s important to see all of it to know how each comedian really did.  Perhaps this will change in subsequent weeks.  A couple of the acts did so badly that it would have been painful to endure the full five minutes.  It was interesting to see comedians do badly on TV and should hopefully demonstrate how difficult a task it is.  I hope this so that people stop asking to come and see my gigs expecting me to be funny.

For me, it would have been much more satisfying as a programme if we’d seen all of the performances and if, instead of the “tasks”, we’d spent some time seeing how the acts developed their material.

I obviously asked myself how I’d do on the show.  Apart from the fact that I’d be completely out of my depth, it struck me that because they’re asking to generate material in a specific way, it only really lends itself to observational-type comedians. In essence, I’d be completely boned. I suppose it’s an understandable approach as they need their winner to appeal to as mainstream an audience as possible.

And so to the result.  Unsurprisingly it was a couple of the least experienced acts that struggled most – although not the seemingly sacrificial lamb Ellie who probably tailored her material to the audience most successfully.  You wonder if they picked some inexperienced acts on purpose, to make it more “dramatic”.  I’m struggling otherwise to think of a reason why there is such a disparity in experience.  The judges picked 4 acts to give feedback to – 2 good, 2 bad – and it was really obvious which was which. The two up for the chop were Prince Abdi and Ignacio Lopez. Ignacio went home with all 3 votes, despite the judges seemingly agreeing that Prince was worse on the night.  The judges’ feedback was among the most interesting parts of the show, and even this seemed cut short. Poor Jason Manford seemed totally redundant.

Anyway, I seem like I’m being really harsh on it, but that’s probably because I wanted it to be really good.  It was enjoyable enough, and I’ll stick with it for now.  Hopefully they’ll be able to grow into the format as the acts start to thin out.

If you take anything away from the programme it should be this: anyone who even tries stand up is totally amazing.

I’ve thought long and hard about what to say about Manchester United’s recent record-breaking league victory.  It’s traumatic enough for me to simply type “Manchester United”, so this it’s safe to say that this isn’t going to be easy.  I considered writing a piece in which I congratulated them for their achievement, but which also threw in loads of back-handed insults.  But that would make me look like an idiot.  As much I have a natural antipathy for the aptly named Red Devils, you cannot help but praise them for how successful they’ve been over the last twenty years.  Even though it makes me feel sick to say so, and it’s something I don’t plan on ever saying again.  Well done.

I will pick up on one point: the whole “knocking Liverpool off their perch” fallacy.  OK, I know that it’s continually picked up on because it makes great copy, but can we all just agree now that it’s not true?  Liverpool, sadly, fell off their perch before Ferguson won his first league title.  Although it’s taken them the best part of twenty years to surpass Liverpool’s record, I think we can all agree that the battle was lost quite some time ago.  Now it’s just official.

So, what does conceding this record actually mean to me as a Liverpool fan? Not a lot.  I’ll continue to be endlessly and unrealistically optimistic about the upcoming season.  Some people mock this unfounded belief, but it’s all about concentrating on the fortunes of your own club and not worrying about what everybody else is up to.

Damn, I couldn’t get all the way through without having a little dig.

My enthusiasm for the task certainly wasn’t helped by my insistence on forcing myself to write a “match report” about every single match, regardless of whether I had seen it or not.  Combining this with the many frustrating, wasted afternoons spent attempting to watch matches on dodgy internet streams and the enjoyment was soon drained from the writing process.

The logistics of the process were, of course, only part of the tale.  My apathy was largely due to the horror of watching a team in decline and a club in meltdown.   The press only seemed capable of filing negative stories relating to Liverpool last season (not that there was much to cheer about) and it all took its toll on me.  With a torrid season finally over, I contemplated writing an overview of the campaign, taking a look back on where exactly things had gone wrong.  In the end, it seemed like it would have been a punishment that I didn’t deserve.  I’d just wait until things got a bit more positive at Anfield.

Well, with Benitez inevitably gone and a new manager in place, it seems like the Reds may have finally turned a corner.  The signing of Joe Cole brought the rarest of things: a positive news story and a sense of optimism.  Now, last year’s beleaguered squad somehow looks quite useful, with just a handful of modest signings.  It’s amazing (not to mention inexplicable) how things suddenly seem so different after the summer break.

So, should I start writing about football again?  It’s currently half-time against Man City and Liverpool are behind to a Gareth Barry goal and were completely outplayed for the bulk of the opening 45 minutes.  Although I’ve by no means given up on the match, it really hasn’t put me in the best frame of mind to publish a match report.  Of course, we could score a shed-load of goals in the second half and then I’d be loving it.  Such is the lot of a football fan and blogger.

Perhaps this emotion shows that I shouldn’t be tied to just writing about the matches.  Perhaps I should just write about LFC in more general terms and not be tied to the roller-coaster that is a football match.  It also means that I don’t miss half the game by making tedious notes about what has happened.

Anyway, I’m off to attempt to enjoy watching the second half. Come on, you Reds.

P.s.

Just as I was about to publish this post, City scored a second goal.  It’s official: I hate football… for now.

Airports are weird, aren’t they?  I know that sounds like the start of a bad observational comedy routine, but it’s true.

I’m at the magnificent John Lennon Airport for the first leg of my journey to Norway and I thought that I’d fill you in on what’s happened so far.

After a suspiciously easy check-in (nobody in the queue), I went through the hand luggage scanning, which is extremely rigourous these days, what with the transparent plastic bags and the no liquids over 100ml and the shoes.  Not that I’m complaining.  A vigourous search of your belongings is certainly preferable to the alternative.

Something strange did happen when I got searched, though.  After my stuff had been through the scanner, the lady said that she had to scan my phone (she didn’t specify what it was going to be scanned for).  This entailed her getting a wand with a cloth on the end and wiping the phone all over.  She then put it in a machine and pulled a lever and a ticket printed out.  She looked at the ticket and called over a colleague.   All was clearly not well.

Her colleague got a fresh cloth for the wand and wiped it over the woman’s hands and then popped the phone back in the machine and pulled the lever.  No ticket came out this time.  He then wrote my name and flight details and the word “iPhone” onto a scrap of paper.  I was starting to worry.   Was I going to be questioned for some heinous crime and miss my flight?  Or worse, was I going to have to leave my precious iPhone behind?

No.  He just gave it me back.   I asked if there was anything wrong.  He said “not anymore” before walking off.  I wasn’t overly reassured.  What were they scanning for on the clearly bogus piece of machinery? Why had he written my name down?  Would there be consequences?

In an attempt to calm my nerves, I went to get a coffee.  Caffeine is a well known relaxant, right?  Anyway, I ordered a coffee that should have cost £2.99.  The girl charged my £2.39.  There was nothing on the menu that costs £2.39.  It was a lovely brew, though, so I’m just putting the pricing  down to the weirdness of airports.

As I enjoyed my drink, I decided to send a few tweets.  Afterwards I realised that I couldn’t lock my phone.  It seemed as though its examination had cocked up the button.  I tried restarting the phone but it then got into a loop for about 5 minutes.  I was panicking by this stage.  What had they done to my beloved iPhone?

I just buggered about with the button for a bit and it seems to be fine at the moment.  Fingers crossed.

My only other bit of airport news so far is that one of the Ryan Air flight attendants looked like a ladyboy, but I’m not here to pass judgment.   By the way, I am actually writing this as I’m sat in the airport.  All that stuff has only just happened to me.  The netbook is paying dividends already.   Not literally, but it is very handy.

Right, I should go and mooch around WH Smiths.  It’s my duty as a traveller.

Bon Voyage (to myself).

May 2009 saw my blogging drought come to an end, and also saw PSGOM transfer from Blogger to here on WordPress.  I explain this move (not very well) in the post Welcome to WordPress.  It’s not very exciting, but it has such historical significance that it’s worth reading just so you can tell your grandkids that you did.

I guess I was still working out what I should be writing about on PSGOM, at this stage, which probably explains the post Holy Gravy?.  In it, I describe how when I tried to go to my old blogger address it took me to some kind of wacko bible web-site.  Maybe it was just God sending me a message.  Or maybe not.

May 2009 also saw me start to write about football, a practice that I’ve now stopped.  What a difference a year makes.  The post A Prayer saw me asking my old friend God for some help in Liverpool winning the league.  Sadly, the very next post, Gravy 1 God 0, saw God disprove his existence as Manchester United won and all but ended Liverpool’s chances.  Ah, how I wish I could return to those days of narrowly missing out, rather than the complete and abject failure of the Reds this season.  At some point, I should really write a post about their demise, but it’s going to take an almighty effort.  Anyway, I discuss the end of last season’s title race in the post It is Now, in which I urge Manchester United fans not to gloat for the sake of their own existential well-being.

Looking through your old posts is a good way of bringing back some happy memories.  Firstly, there was Blumen’ Marvellous which describes Team Extreme’s Goot’s proposed starter for his Heston Blumenthal-style (Blumenstyle) feast.  Sadly, Goot never got around to scheduling the dinner party and we’re all still sat around exceedingly hungry for his pony-tail based delights.  Secondly, there was my Wall of Wonder, which documents all of the pictures that I had stuck on the wall next to my desk in work.  Sadly, I’ve since moved desks and it’s all come down, but I’ll always have this post to remind me of the glory days.

The final post of the month was Previewing My Reviews.  In retrospect, it’s an interesting post as it’s basically me apologising for being crap at writing reviews because I was so nervous about writing any that I felt I had to pre-empt the criticism I was sure to get for their crapness.  I wouldn’t necessarily say that I’ve gotten any better at writing reviews, but I’ve published loads of them now, so at least I no longer feel funny about doing it.  There’s definitely a lesson to be learned for any fledgling bloggers: just write it.

You can read the rest of my posts from May 2009, here.

I thought I’d say hello, though, so I’m writing this on my phone. Just think of this as a long text message. That’s on the Internet. It’s actually nothing like a text message, so forget that I mentioned it.

In many ways, there’s no good reason for me to write this post. I just like to let you guys know that I’m still around.

Boo.

I’m still around.

Erm. I’m struggling a bit now. I’m watching Liverpool as I write this. They’ve made a good start but I just have a bad feeling about the result. I hope I’m proved wrong. We’ll see what happens in 80 minutes time.

The only other thing that I can think to tell you is that I have a cat sniffing my hair. It’s cuter than it sounds. She’s not a pervert or anything.

Anyway, I’m getting a bit sleepy, so I’m off. I’ll speak to you properly very soon.