Rob Gilroy: Why I’m leaving stand-up behind

OK, I think it’s time to come clean. I’ve been weighing this up for a little while now and I think it’s finally time I put it in writing otherwise I’ll never commit myself to anything. I’m taking a step back from stand-up comedy.

I’ve been considering this for the last few months and I’ve already started cutting down on the number of gigs I’m gigging. I still have a few left for the rest of the year and I’m going to fulfil my duties – so all you open spot vultures can back off – but I think my time with stand-up has come to an end.

I’m not really the stand-up sort – as any number of promoters, producers, competition organisers and family members will tell you. It’s not that I don’t love stand-up, I do. But I’ve come to the realisation that it’s not the thing I love most about comedy. When I first became ensnared in this vocation/self-centred coma, I had aspirations of the sort of comedy I wanted to do, and stand-up wasn’t really one of them.

I have a lot of respect for stand-up comedy, which is why it’s probably best I stay the hell away from it.

My earliest comedy gropings were at school, with friends. We would perform old Monty Python and Two Ronnies’ sketches, siphoning off some of the budget from the annual Bugsy Malone production. I loved it.

When I got tired of mimicking Eric Idle I set up a sketch group with a couple of friends and we started writing and performing our own material. We put on shows at several local festivals – the sort where they sell jars of chutney at eighteen quid a pop and host readings from poets you only see on Look North.

We did this for a couple of years and had a blast. It might not have been the new rock and roll but it was certainly more fun than completing Crash Bandicoot for the tenth time that week. Then something awful happened… one of my friends died.

That’s not true; I just wrote it as a hook to keep you reading. The sad but true fact is; we all went to separate universities. Higher education is a funny time in your life, when you struggle to keep in contact with anyone who dares live outside your student accommodation. So it was that we went our separate ways. We’re still friends – believe me, I tried to freeze them out – but their interest in comedy isn’t quite as self destructive as mine.

I tried finding a new group of people to work with but it’s not easy. It’s like dating, except you need to establish your similarities much quicker. If they don’t find the sound of someone getting stuck in a tube funny, then they’re not really worth investing time in.

Stand-up became a way of continuing my passion without having to enlist other people. It’s the singer/songwriter of the comedy world – the Bob Dylan, the Neil Young, the Ray Quinn.

So it was that I climbed onto the stand-up train (for any newbies out there, it’s not a real train that’s why they don’t mention it on the forums) and I’ve been chugging along for three years. I now need to get off the train – it’s getting crowded, I’m not sure it’s headed for my destination and the bloke sleeping next to me has just shat himself.

The real reason is, while I’ve been doing stand-up, I’ve also been writing scripts and sketches, performing with others and generally whoring myself out to any desperate fool that will have me (hello to you, Giggle Beats). Recently I came to the realisation that I was doing all these things but not really to a standard I was happy with.

So I’ve decided to take stock, look at what I enjoy doing and focus in on that. I still want to do some form of live comedy, the smell of the auditorium and the sting of being underpaid are enough to keep my coming back, but I need to figure out what I want to do. I may return to stand-up at some point, but for now I’m happy to say adieu (French for ‘I’m done’.)

There are plenty of people out there furiously applying for the limited amount of spaces on the circuit and I see no point in getting in their way. It’s like the old saying goes: “Shit or get off the pot.” It’s been a long time since I’ve shitted, so now I’m prising my buttocks from the ceramic bowl and shuffling off, trousers around my ankles, searching for a purpose.

That said, I’m still available for gigs.