Rob Gilroy: Making A Stand #47
This week, I am… Sorry? Of course you’re not too late – come in and take a seat. Comfy? Good.
Right; this week I am discuss… No worries, just in time. Pop yourself down there.
OK, so this week I am discussing the – WHAT IS IT NOW? Well you’ve missed the start of the column, but never mind; at least you’re here.
Any more?
No? Good.
So, this week – OH FOR GOD’S SAKE!
Not nice is it? It’s frustrating when you try to make a point but you’re being constantly interrupted. That’s why I never do Newsnight. Well, that and the fact that no one has asked me to do Newsnight. I am available for bookings, though.
The reason I bring it up is; earlier this week I was at a gig in Darlington. It was a lovely gig, run by a <sucking up> great promoter </sucking up> in a really nice venue.
The conditions were perfect for comedy gold. It was as if the planets of mirth had aligned specifically for the purpose of allowing me to dick around on stage for fifteen minutes. It was magic.
However, before I had even pushed the first consonant out of the gap between my teeth (yes it’s only small but you wouldn’t believe the amount of toffee I have to prise out of that bad boy) I was interrupted.
Several people were up and on their feet before my clammy mitts had even grasped the microphone.
Now, I’ve had walkouts before. Numerous ones, in fact. But pre-empting what I’m going to say? That’s just calculated.
I didn’t let it faze me though. I took a deep breath, licked the tears off my cheek, and opened my mouth. Yet before I had moistened my tongue I was interrupted for a second time.
Those previously aligned planets were now, like a stroppy couple in a Beefeater, separated by a vast space of awkward silence. It wasn’t more people leaving, thankfully. It was several dozen arriving. It was less of a gig, more a revolving door.
People who had previously got up to go to the toilet or buy another round of drinks were now squeezing themselves back into the intimate room.
From the outside it must have looked like some sort of Clown Car Convention. All the while, my as yet un-uttered opening line was now starting to feel like a cry for help.
On the one hand I was stunned at the amount of commotion, on the other; I was just pleased they weren’t the backs of people’s heads.
It doesn’t matter if people are popping for a quick piddle or not, that rejection cuts straight through you. Like a butter knife through a slightly defrosted blancmange.
Before I go any further, I must point out that I wasn’t just stood on the stage, silent. I was furiously mugging to the seated members of the audience. My dexterous face feigning alarm and frustration.
I say feigning, but that gurning was as real as the palpable sense of embarrassment. I managed to get laughs without opening my mouth, which is nice. All the better for it not being in a speed dating environment.
Eventually after the world’s longest game of musical chairs, or indeed the biggest outbreak of arse lice, things settled and I was able to speak. I rattled out the first few lines of my act and the response was great.
I think people sympathised with my attempts to handle the human conga line that had torn through the room like a pissed up snake. It worked to my advantage, so I milked it.
Soon I was on a roll. I had them in the palm of my hand, if not laughing, then certainly finding me wryly amusing. And as I came to the next big bit of material; it happened again.
Another few people peered round the curtain, like an inappropriate corpse at a shambolic cremation. People laughed, I made a joke and the guy found his seat. Not before spilling half a pint of pale ale down someone’s leg.
Needless to say further laughs were had, despite my act’s tragic derailment.
Things eventually settled down once again, all fidgety bottoms extinguished. I quickly dropped a couple of bits for time and ploughed on towards the end.
This all sounds like a rough gig and yet it wasn’t. It happened to be one of the loveliest gigs I’ve done in a long while.
Sure, I didn’t do as much material as I would have liked and it was a tad stop-start but the important thing was; people were laughing.
They were laughing at the interruptions but they were also laughing at how I handled them. Everyone in that room knew that my reaction was a one-time thing and that made it even more special for all involved.
That was until I looked to my left and saw a woman fast asleep at the back. Critic, eh?
I’ve always tried to make sure that interruptions and heckles don’t faze me, but that night I learnt to fully embrace them.
They might not be what you’ve spent weeks honing but they could definitely be what people remember most about the night.
In fact I got home to find an email from some of the audience members; they told me how much they’d enjoyed my set and that they’d keep an eye out for me in future.
And I’ll be more than happy to see them – as long as they turn up on time.
