Rob Gilroy: Aging Gracelessly

Last week I turned 27 and therefore am almost dead. While signs of decay are relatively small, nothing can compare to that dreaded feeling that life is whirring past me, while I try control my motion sickness by breathing into a pick ‘n’ mix bag.

As is usual when you reach another year of existence, you look back at what you’ve achieved and ask yourself “Is that it?” You know that if Michael Aspel were to momentarily resume his biographical duties and spring an episode on you, there would be nothing but slim pickings. I don’t mean the actor.

My decision to pursue comedy as a full-time thing came at a very early age and is still with me now, like carpal tunnel. For a short time I wanted to be an officer worker, for the simple fact that I could buy myself an electric pencil sharpener and claim it back on expenses. But other than that, comedy has always been what I wanted to do. I know it’s odd, and hardly the most obvious career choice, but I knew that having people laugh at me was what I wanted. And I will always have those bullies to thank for that.

I’m aware of the psychological issues that probably underline my desire to make a fool of myself for the appreciation of others, but it hasn’t diminished my passion. I made the decision when I was about 10 years old and performing in the school play. Initially I thought I wanted to be an actor (read: professional show off) but then someone referred to me as a ‘comedian’ – I didn’t know what the term meant but once I found out, I quickly devoted my life to it. Even Total Jobs doesn’t have that sort of conversion rate.

I appreciate that it’s not the norm, and I spent a long time trying to justify myself to people. I remember one fateful conversation when my Nan asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I said “a comedian” and then spent a further forty minutes resolutely ignoring her “but seriously, what do you want to be?” Who knows, maybe she was testing my resolve – the mark of a good careers councillor – if she was trying to make me see reason, she failed.

Eventually, after a few stop-starts, I stumbled into stand-up comedy and, as I stated recently, I’ve just retired from it. It’s hard not to think of it as a step backwards – if you want to make people laugh, then surely heading towards the stage is best? Yet this minor setback isn’t worrying me all too much.

The weird thing is, when I was 10 – back when TV stars were still undiscovered sexual predators and computers came with a box labelled ‘break glass in the event of robotic uprising’ – saying you wanted to be a comedian was like claiming you were going into space without a shuttle. Now it’s everywhere. The competition for comedy, and in particular stand-up, is at an all time high – and most are floating around up there with little direction.

I don’t begrudge these people; clearly something has drawn them to comedy in the same way it did with me. Granted, there will be some people in it for the instant fame and success, but those people will quickly learn that it’s about as likely as Professor Brian Cox declaring science is “just a load of old guff”.

When I was about 14 or 15, I distinctly remember thinking to myself – “I don’t want to be rich, I don’t want to be famous, I just want to make things that are funny. If I can do that, and not have to do another job, then I’ll have succeeded.” I’m not quite there yet; I keep edging closer but there’s still a long way to go and with it, a lot of hard work. But I’m OK with that, because while making people laugh isn’t always easy, it’s still one of the things that I most enjoy doing.

I realise how rare it is to know what you want to do with your life, certainly at the age of 10, so not only do I treasure my drive to succeed in something I love, but the fact that my passion remains undiminished 17 years later. I bet even the Pope’s had a wobble in that time.

So as I look back, with 27 year-old eyes, I see where I started and where I am now and I’m very happy with myself. Not smug, but happy. While my hair is slowly receding and my stomach gently extending, I am still doing what I wanted to do aged 10 – I’m making people laugh. Even if the money never comes, I won’t stop, at least not until I’m dead.

And even then I’ll probably put a whoopee cushion in the coffin.