Jesus, how did I manage to survive two thirteen-night jaunts away from home last year? I hadn't even got to three nights away and was homesick for a home that I have never yet actually slept in. I know I wasn't totally alone last year and I kind of dig the solitude, but I can't imagine how I coped in 2011.
Perhaps this little section wouldn't be so hard on my psyche if it wasn't ending with three relatively quiet gigs. There was only about 100 in for Doncaster tonight. It's a tiny room anyway, so that didn't matter too much, but I sensed that I was going to have to raise my spirits to pull this off. Perhaps I have been spoiled by getting bigger crowds.
The Dome is a sprawling, massive venue, incorporating ice rinks and sports halls - my dressing room was a corporate box, overlooking some basketball courts. I peeked behind the thick curtains that had been put in front of the window. Some children were playing badmington on one of them. That was a definite tour first for a dressing room view. Life on the road can be surreal.
The show was meant to start at 8, but no one came to get me, so I went down stairs to see what was going on. I had a bit of a jolt as I looked through the glass in the door. The venue was entirely empty. Had no one shown up at all. I knew we had sold tickets, but was momentarily disorientated. It turned out that the lighting rig had arrived late (ironically the guys bringing it were stuck in traffic on the way from Sheffield - I could have picked it up myself on the way here).
The show went up at 8.10 and given the size of the crowd it got off to a roaring start. My fears had been unjustified. As it was Friday, of course, people had been drinking and quite a few people went to the loo (especially at the end of the first half which is getting longer little by little). Some ladies in the front row kept talking and laughing at inappropriate moments, which made me worry that my flies were open or my cock had popped out. There was a little bit of banter with the crowd and some ad libs, but they were all very good natured and this was unexpectedly turning into a top gig. I suggested as the interval approached that maybe some people had been brought here by their spirit guides to find their soul mates, adding, "it seems some of you weren't here for the comedy. A lot of you seem to have come here just for the toilet facilities - "Have you heard, if you pay £15 to see this show, you get to use the toilet as many times as you like for free." It all went down well, creating a nice mixture of scripted stuff and banter.
The second half got off to an interesting start, with a cheerful and maybe slightly merry man on the front row putting up his hands to ask me about Julia Sawalha ("She was the one who played Saffy in Ab Fab, right?) I joked about this interjection, letting him know that if he had any questions at any point, just to chip in. He played along and asked something about Stewart. It was all good fun. I worried that it might get out of hand, but the guy knew when to stop and things progressed nicely from then on in. Once again I was nailing the second half, finding new and subtle ways to hit the gags. The story about my grandma was hitting just the right pitch and I could feel that the audience was emotionally involved. Without giving too much away, the culmination of the routine is a two or three minute serious and sad soliloquy, which is ultimately punctuated by a sweet, but amusing call back. I become genuinely emotionally involved in the piece, as it's about me realising how deep my love for my grandma goes. It's all about pace and timing and the punchline (or more accurately puncture-line as it is the comment that deflates the tension I have carefully set up in the previous few minutes) has to be delivered after a short dramatic pause.
Unfortunately tonight, a high spirited and probably drunk buffoon in the audience chose the moment that I was about to deliver the coup de grace as an opportunity to shout something out. I don't know what he was trying to say and I don't think he intended to derail the show and was just trying to join in. But heckling is as much about choosing your moment as comedy is, and this was a massive and moronic misjudgement. And it made me incredibly angry because this unwanted interjection was not only disrespectful to the openness of the story and my grandma, but it also totally derailed the routine. Once the tension is broken then you can't get the atmosphere back.
I was genuinely angry about having the whole denouement of the show ruined and couldn't hide my bitterness as I chastised the idiot for thinking that was a good point to chip in. It was an awkward few minutes as I vented my annoyance and explained why what he had done was insulting to my grandma and the rest of the audience. I was angry enough to suggest that the person leave immediately, though he kept his head down and didn't say anything more.
The atmosphere was now quite sullen and uncomfortable and I didn't want to leave this great show on this sour note, but also felt that I shouldn't have to hide my genuine opprobrium. I thought it I talked it through a bit we might be able to get the show, if not this particular routine, back on track.
But then one of the women on the front row, who had been merrily disruptive in the first half said, "But surely, as a comedian that's just part of the job, you should be able to cope with that." This made me more annoyed, although it explicitly illustrated the point that I've made a couple of times recently. Some people think that a comedy show is more about the hecklers and dealing with them than anything else. And so I should magically have been able to turn the interruption to my advantage and incorporate it. But whilst it's possible for a well-timed heckle to improve a show or indeed to destroy a comedian, a badly-timed and unfunny one can wreck the night for everyone. It's been clear to every other audience that I have ever played to (even the drunk ones) that this would not be a good point to chuck in a comment and would be a nigh on impossible one to say something that would make anyone else laugh. This collapse of the balloon of comedy was not my fault. And I had a right to be angry about the disrespect the comment had shown, though I acknowledged it was a misjudgement and we should get beyond it. It was just a shame that the crowd who had been enjoying this show weren't going to get the proper pay off.
I took umbrage with the comments and then the other women on the front row started chipping in, saying something about her friend's dad having recently died, so I tried to point out that someone spoiling the routine about my gran would be like me turning up at her father's funeral and heckling. She clearly found this offensive and I explained that all I was doing was showing how offensive it was to me to have my gran treated with similar disrespect. But the ladies were not capable of understanding the argument and were indignant. None of this was actually their fault, nor was it their argument and they could have just shut up, but one in particular seemed to want to vent her disappointment at the show (and clearly they'd been expecting gags rather than stories about people with Alzheimer's disease). One of the women commented that my show was clearly man's humour, which made me laugh and I agreed pointing out how male and laddish it was to do a 10 minute routine explaining how much I loved my grandma and to do a collection for SCOPE. Bloody men, hey? With their sensitivity and charity, why can't they be more like women?
Weirdly enough this protracted rant (and there was a lot more to it, but it's all a terrible blur) was probably exactly what was required to erase the awkwardness of the initial interruption. It was a bit unfair that these women became the victims of my anger, but then again everyone else, including the original heckle, was aware of the stupidity of the initial interruption. The woman who had told me that it was my job to cope with people heckling seemed perturbed that I was now laying into her, but I explained that I was just following her advise and doing my job. And if it's true that a comedian has to be able to cope with any interjection no matter how misguided, then it's certainly true that anyone who comments in a comedy show has to expect to be ripped into.
All in all it probably added more than it subtracted, though it spoiled the show for me a bit. But it is an emotionally charged bit as the man who swallowed a sweet wrapper in Wolverhampton found out and I don't think it's too much to expect people to show a bit of respect during it.
The original heckler did apologise after the show and I didn't hold it against him. He was young and in high spirits and foolishly unable to see what would happen if he made a dumb remark. But it's interesting to me how protective and incensed the whole thing made me, like an animal protecting its young I was ready to strike out again. The emotions in this show are real folks. Don't poke me with a stick or I'll go for you.
Of course if I was a big comedian like Billy Connolly the press would now report on how I had lost my rag at a heckle and acted like a prima donna. Because the expectation is that a comic has to put up with any shit that's thrown at them. But sometimes it's the heckler that is the dick. Sometimes the indignant reaction is justified. Tonight I dealt with several interruptions delicately and charmingly and inclusively.
There were many apologies from the crowd afterwards, though not from the women hecklers who hung around to the end to tell me that I had ruined their evening and that I was a knob. I again explained I was only doing my job, as they had instructed me. One woman held a drink in her hand and I was pretty sure she was going to throw it over me. When I suggested she might be drunk she asked me to smell her drink, but I was too clever to fall for that one. I had repeatedly told them that if they shut up I would leave them alone, but they had just kept talking and I had to deal with that.
Ah well, another weekend gig. What will happen in Barnsley tomorrow? God help me.
On the plus side the venue had booked me into a really nice pub hotel tonight and I went back there for a pint or two. As I sat alone playing Monopoly on my phone another gaggle of Doncaster women who had been drinking tonight came up to sit at my table. They had no idea who I was and I spent an enjoyable half an hour having a drink and a chat with them, confirming that most Yorkshire folk (and I count myself as one of them) are lovely and friendly people.
And not only was all my parking free, but I decided to book into the same hotel tomorrow night so I can have the whole day here (it's not too far from Barnsley) and they gave it to me at the same rate that the theatre had paid, which is an incredible £20 including B&B. Last time I spent that kind of money on a hotel room the toilet was in the same room as the bed (Swansea) - I think that might have even been a bit more. So that makes up a bit for the unpleasantness I guess.
