Read Can't Stand Up for Sitting Down for Free Online

right mood for a gig. Firstly, I’m not good at socialising before
I do a show as my thoughts are on what’s coming up, rather than chatting to a
local journalist about how I got into comedy It’s also nice to be somewhere
private. I once did a benefit and discovered my dressing room was the same room
as the green room for friends, family and press with a makeshift bar, and Andy
and I sat in the corner trying to write out our set-list. The changing
facilities were a handily placed screen in the corner of the room, and someone
peeking round it just as I was taking my trousers off was the last flipping
straw.
    I tend
to write my set out three times, don’t ask me why, I’ve forgotten by now. I
also stick some prompt notes on a speaker in front of the mic more as a
security blanket rather than actually needing it.
    As
‘show time’ approaches, various announcements come through on the relay in the
dressing room, counting you down. My favourites are always the old-fashioned
stage managers who say things like, ‘Tonight’s concert will begin in fifteen
minutes.’ I always want to run round and shout, ‘It’s not a bleeding concert, it’s
a comedy show.’
    Andy
always goes on first. I usually make an announcement from a mic backstage to
introduce him, warning the punters that the show will be quite rude — so if
they don’t like swearing, they’d better fuck off now. Audiences who tut at
this tend not to laugh very much, as you can imagine. After that, I stand
backstage and watch the first five minutes to get a flavour of what the audience
is like. Surely you’re thinking, an audience is an audience is an audience —
but you’re wrong. There are so many subtle (and unsubtle) differences in the
way that audiences behave. The day of the week makes a difference, the weather,
the time of year, the size of the theatre — lots of things like that. Also, if
there are hecklers, it’s useful to know what they’ve said to Andy so I can
pick up on it later.
    Once on
stage, I kick off with a line that I know works, just to make sure they’re not
going to hate me. Again, levels of laughter are quite subtle and I can always
tell if they’re not quite there. At this point I might change my plan to
improvise a bit of local stuff and replace it with some tried and tested
material just to really get them going before I push off into the unknown.
However, if it’s all gone well so far, I’ll do some stuff on local news. I
always buy a local paper and scan it in the dead zone between sound check and
performance. Local papers give you a good idea of what local concerns are, and
sometimes in predominantly rural areas I find stuff that wouldn’t even get a
look-in in our South London Press. In Hay-on-Wye in Wales, one year at
the Literary Festival, I found a story on the front page, Hanging Basket
Stolen, which struck me as so sweet.
    Audiences
seem to really like you talking about their home territory and it usually
elicits some responses from them and encourages them to join in, until it feels
like they are really involved. On several occasions, people in the audience
have actually featured in some of the stories and joined in on enlarging on the
story itself. The rest of the audience loves this and it’s so great when it
happens.
    Major
concerns round the country seem to be crime, parking and rubbish. The other bit
of the paper I use a lot is the letters page, on which complaints about dog poo
and petty crime feature heavily. The review of the papers can last anything
from two minutes to fifteen depending on how well it goes. In Brecon once, I
mentioned a story about a minor earthquake and an interview with a woman who’d
said that when she’d heard the earthquake, she’d assumed it was her Labrador
wagging his tail against the side of the bath. Of course, several people knew
her!
    It’s
quite interesting how the amount of material one does in a show can expand
enormously or concertina down into almost half the length,