In which I get all common in a posh pub, terrify a Belgian and invent some of the worst deaths for a magician in my MIND.
Gig no: 56. Where? Trafalgar Tavern, Greenwich.
Why? Applied online.
Who Held My Hand? Blogger mate Ian and his Scottish mate, Robbie.
What Happened? I’m excited about this one. The Trafalgar Tavern is beautiful and NEAR MY HOUSE.
Bit weird when I get here. A handful of people are milling around. There are two events tonight apparently – the comedy and a ‘meet-up’. This sounds like code-speak for some DATING NIGHTMARE. The usual stand-up room is closed for refurbishment so we’re in a corner of the pub right by the entrance with creaking doors, the bar, music and toilets in our FACE.
Ah well, it’s near my house.
Both parties seem to be staying in the same place. Maybe the dating people saw each other and decided to watch some comedy instead. “The man in the hat is Milo, he’s the MC,” says a nice woman. I go introduce myself to Milo. Who is not called Milo it turns out but Marvin.
I’m genuinely interested in meeting a Marvin. Marvin isn’t as interested in meeting me it seems. Marvin appears not to have had his Red Bull today. Maybe it’s the hat. Hats can make people a bit too cool to speak. Maybe he’s just shy.
Marvin tells me I’m on third. I go meet my two lovely friends, spotting Imogen Edmundson as I pass. Imogen is becoming one of my Repeatedly Random Stand-up Meets. Good job I like her.
Imogen is being accosted by an old scary man with a notebook. I have already avoided his eye by utter STEALTH. Sometimes you get caught by oddballs. Sometimes you escape. I am old and wise and NIFTY.
Saying that, Marvin seems to be hovering at my elbow. “You’re on third,” he tells me. It’s not the hat.
Well it’s a weird old night. Marvin likes doing magic which isn’t magic and saying “Sexy Pepsi” and “Sick and ting” and making us clap a lot. It’s a dangerous game to play when we’re so close to the Thames.
On the whole, the line up is strong and well-balanced and I don’t feel guilty subjecting my friends to it. I’m trying new material tonight, partly because I just can’t mention Uniform Dating AGAIN in front of Blogger Mate Ian and partly coz I’m doing another 15 mins at the Dogstar, Brixton next week and HAVE TO.
I’ve been wanting to strengthen my Scouse material for a while and have rehearsed some in my kitchen this very day.
“We have the back of the throat thing, a roly ‘r’… Scousers have very dexterous tongues. It’s just no one ever fancies us enough to find out.”
If, 12 months ago, you had told me I’d be making up jokes a few hours before repeating them to a live audience, I’d have slit my own throat. Is this a growth SPURT in confidence or am I a bit ill this week? I do have a massive hangover today so I’ll tell you now, it’s not all plain sailing at Trafalgar…
For a start, the mic is shite. Marvin’s been producing a low buzz – and that’s with it switched off. I hold it for 3 seconds before abandoning it completely and using both hands.
“Good evening. I’m Lizzie Hopley. I’m from Liverpool. Yes, they do come in Scouse.”
Of course, it’s meant to be “they do come in posh” which is funny but I have Prosecco in my veins instead of blood so I BALLS IT UP. I fess up and carry on and only survive AT ALL coz I don’t care about failing. This may be the result of the second pitcher…
Ah well it’s near my house.
Nah, I enjoy it. I get good laughs. I do a scary Scouse accent in the face of a lovely Belgian woman who looks STRICKEN. But she’ll live. It’s just under 5. I get off. Perfect.
There are some decent comics tonight. Imogen of course, a lovely girl called Nicole who I’ve seen a few times and has fun threatening us with sexy pepsi magic and Emily Baum and Darius Tabatabai who are solid and original.
The stand out act for me though is Trevor Tokabi who, even confessing to unformed material, is brilliant.
Afterwards, the Belgian lady, herself a comic who’s also been very good, asks if I’m Scottish. I consider this a massive fail for someone who’s entire act has been about Liverpool. Turns out she’s no idea what the word Scouse means. Why should she. I start talking about lamb and potatoes and the Germans but she glazes over. It’s all getting a bit Sexy Pepsi so I stop.
What I Have Learned:
- There is no worse death WORSE enough for some magic.
- Nor for when old scary men get a mic, 7 minutes and an audience.
- I have lovely gorgeous friends.
***Since typing this, my 2nd 15mins at Dogstar has been postponed til October. Watch Gigs List for updates…***