Michael McIntyre came to me in a dream and told me to try stand-up, so I did.
Haha.
I’ve never wanted to try stand-up. I tried it in my 20s, did about 2 gigs, then gave up as I found being on the receiving end of other peoples’ attention excruciating but realised I was good at coming up with ideas so drifted (well moved; I won a competition) into comedy writing.
I never thought about it again until one night, a while back, I had this incredibly vivid dream. In it, I was watching Michael McIntyre from the wings of a theatre. He was telling jokes I had written and the audience were rewarding him with the long rolling laughs that tell you as a comedy writer you’ve done a good job. I felt proud and relieved. The audience were enjoying themselves. I was in McIntyre’s good books and would probably get invited back.
Then after he’d finished his set something weird happened. He walked back into the wings of the theatre, handed me the microphone and said “and now you’re on.”
As soon as this happened, dream-me fell into a panic. It was like one of those exam dreams where someone tells you you’re about to sit your university finals tomorrow and you can’t remember anything you’ve studied or why you’re here even there. I protested: there had been some mistake, I wasn’t a stand-up, had no desire to try it even, I hated performing, what’s more the audience would hate me. The worst crime of all? I didn’t have anything prepared. I couldn’t go on and riff in front of thousands of people. Look at them!
McIntyre persisted. I was definitely, definitely supposed to be on. Look, my name was on the list and everything. I argued back. This was a horrible mistake, a miscommunication. He had to let me off, it would be a disaster. Ultimately dream-me won and dream-McIntyre wandered off into the wings, mumbling something about how he would tell all the audience to go home then.
I was left standing in the darkness, watching the dim silhouettes of the audience drift away through the curtains of the theatre, feeling a huge sense of relief. But then another feeling came over me. Foreboding that I’d pissed off dream-McIntyre and he wouldn’t hire me again, sure, but also a sense that for some reason I couldn’t put my finger on I was missing out.
So that’s the short, stupid version of why I’m trying stand-up. I’ve been doing it for a couple of months, got my first spot on a pro-headlined bill, and bought approx 2 drinks with my earnings. Hearing people laugh at your jokes first-hand is gratifying and while I might not get the lavish 1000s-strong audience of McIntyre in my dream, it is nice not to be standing in the wings for once.
I get that a message from dream-Michael McIntyre is a stupid reason to take up stand-up comedy after years off writing it but all the best decisions in my life have been made for stupid reasons, so I’m not going to let that discourage me. I hope that at the very least it’ll be a fun adventure, sharpen my writing and be another silly string to my bow.
So you know, follow your stupid dreams people.
[Disclaimer: I’ve never written a live stand-up set for Michael McIntyre. This was a dream. I don’t wish to credit-jump Michael McIntyre, either in his real or imaginary form, or imply he’s a tyrant who forces people onstage against their will. However I *do* wish to imply he’s astrally projecting himself into people’s dreams to fuck with them, simply because that’s a fun thing to imply. Thankyou for your time.]
Something I wrote
In other tonally very different news my short story The Adolescents, about a couple drifting apart in the wake of a cancer diagnosis, is now online at The Fence and you can read it here.
People have said nice things.
In other even more tonally different news, surreal kids’ animation The Rubbish World of Dave Spud, voiced by Johnny Vegas, has won a British Animation Award for Best Series and I’m honoured that the script submitted was one of mine. It’s called Moonbreaker and you can watch it here if you’ve got lil kiddos. It’s 10 minutes long and is about an amateur fireworks disaplay accidentally blowing up the moon.
Also…
I’ve been reading the bible, just because it felt like something I wanted to do before I pop my clogs. There are lots of serious things to say about it (probably) but my main takeaway is this: if your husband gets into a fist-fight with another man it’s against the law of God to grab that other man in the nuts (Deuteronomy, 25:11).
This is an important one because for reasons I can’t put my finger on it seems like the sort of situation I might one day end up in. While it’s sad to know I won’t be able to use my go-to move, there’s no rule against head-butting or nunchucks, so I can only assume those come with God’s approval. This does not constitute legal advice.
Until next time, adios x