Most ‘Maureen’ moment this year so far must be whilst on a mini tour of the Netherlands and Germany. In Cologne, I stayed at a rather small hotel and in the morning was making the most of having a German breakfast by helping myself to loads of meat. It was only once I’d piled all the prosciutto onto my plate that I realised I was, in fact, taking the meat from another guest’s plate. Not surprisingly, he was so taken aback, he just stared at me in utter disbelief.
True to form, I didn’t apologise straight away but demanded where I could get the meat from first. (You’ll be relieved to know I did eventually return the meat once I discovered the source). In my defence, I didn’t realise it was his plate; I just thought it was a plate of meat for everyone to help themselves to. The fact that he was sitting at a separate table and it was clearly his plate and that somehow this had all passed me by is a complete mystery – even to me.
On my return to the UK, I then performed at a gig called Jamaica vs. Africa. Yes, you read that right. I was one of the acts on the bill for a gig entitled Jamaica vs. Africa. Why, you might not unreasonably ask, but please don’t. No seriously, don’t. I’ve done gigs called Jamaica vs. The World before. (I’m invariably the world in case you were wondering) and they’ve been a lot of fun. But Jamaica vs. Africa? Considering my family is a 100% Scottish I wouldn’t have automatically assumed I was the most obvious choice for being on such a line up. But then again, I once headlined an Irish comedy night because a promoter had seen my first name and assumed I was Irish and didn’t bother to check; and in my time I’ve compared gigs called Lesbelicious Comedy Nights, so I’m nothing if not adaptable.
This is not a mock up!
When I’d been booked, the show had had another name. (In case you were wondering, it had originally been called Comedy Walhalla). I only found out the new one a couple of days before the show. Given the show’s title, I felt a little on the back foot. I duly walked on stage to 2,000 people (did I mention it was the Indigo 02, that intimate little venue in South East London). The audience were probably wondering, all things considered, why exactly I was on the bill, given that my family is neither Jamaican nor hales from somewhere on the African continent. At least, that’s what I thought they were thinking because that’s how I felt. Needless to say, had the show kept its original name, I wouldn’t have felt like this at all. The gig went OK but the response was nothing like it had been when I’d performed at the 02 the year before. So thoroughly annoyed with myself, I beat a hasty retreat as soon as I’d finished.
Then a month or two later I was performing for Upfront Comedy at The Mac, Birmingham where during the interval a wonderful lady, also called Maureen, and her sister came up to me to tell me they’d only come to the show because of me. (Why is the promoter never standing next to you on the one occasion that happens?) They’d seen me at Jamaica vs. Africa, loved me, had tried to find me after the show, and had been stalking me on social media ever since. I was flabbergasted. As far as I was concerned, I hadn’t had a particularly good gig.
But it goes to show that comics can sometimes be an inexact judge of how a gig went down with the audience; and that our perception of the audience’s experience can differ widely from the audience’s actual experience.
There are two extreme versions of this to be found among stand ups. There’s the comic (I use the word ill-advisedly) who, no matter how badly they’ve done, is convinced they’ve stormed it. All comics have worked with someone of this ilk. The comic in question performs mainly to silence and then as they come off stage, they usually say something along the lines of: I’ve just warmed them up for you. You’re of course thinking: I’m going to have to work my arse off to get this crowd back on an even keel. As a general rule, such ‘comics’ will never improve. How can they if they are so unaware?
Then there are the comics who storm a gig, yet they are either unconvinced as to how well it went or are focusing on that one joke that didn’t land right. Sometimes for the comics in the latter category it’s down to the fact they are used to a certain response. Therefore when they don’t get that response they tell themselves that the gig isn’t going that well. The audience, however, is decidedly unaware of this. They have no idea how loud or how wildly previous audiences have responded: the promoter is most likely unaware of this too. Nevertheless, such thoughts can start chipping away at the comic so they retreat somewhat and take less risks which can only adversely affect the overall performance. After all, the more confident comics feel, the more relaxed they are, the more they are themselves on stage, and the funnier they are.
When I first started out, I had a terrible habit of contradicting promoters if I didn’t think I’d done as well as they thought I had. I used to do this all the time until a more established act wisely advised me to shut the hell up. I had been so adamant in my views (there’s a surprise) that I think on a couple of occasions I had been in danger of convincing the promoter they’d been mistaken about me which is never a good move.
What is a great move has been running the comedy show at the Bradford Literature Festival since 2015. The Festival itself is wonderfully eclectic, drawing in a host of speakers and covering an amazing range of workshops and events. After all, it’s not often you get to discuss Frankenstein with a Nobel prize-winning physicist at breakfast. This year I was performing with my podcast and vlog partner in crime Jen Brister. We spent Friday daytime playing the tourist with Jen’s mother Stella, visiting nearby Haworth and Bronte country. Well worth a visit if you happen to be in the area. It’s a beautiful village though I’m guessing walking down the High Street in winter without a pair of skis you may well be taking your life in your hands.
We also fitted in a short trip on a steam train which is where I had my second most ‘Maureen’ moment this year so far. Unaware that that particular weekend marked the 50th anniversary of the reopening of said railway by volunteers, I was amazed to see so many trainspotters lining the route, as the train trundled down the track. For some reason, I felt the need to point them out to everyone in the carriage every time I spotted one, which given how often a group appeared at the side of the tracks, was a rather regular occurrence.
I only realised the enormity of this social faux pas at the comedy show later that night when Jen related our steam train adventure on stage and pointed out to the audience the one salient factor I’d missed entirely: everyone else in the carriage, apart from us, had been trainspotters too, so quite possibly didn’t require my running commentary about their fellow enthusiasts. Yep, despite their detailed conversations about various train engines I hadn’t put two and two together. Well I suppose that’s the advantage of comedy. You can always use your cock ups and those of your friends as material.
Great blog – as always!