Awards or none (oh, yes it is none) I am loving my life again: I seem to be getting plenty of work in and the stand up stuff is such fun. I was at Lincoln University tonight and had a small amount of dread in my heart as my memories of playing student venues back in the mid 90s were not always pleasant. But I had nothing to fear as not only was the gig impeccably organised, there was a large-ish comedy literate audience who were a lot of fun to perform to. The only criticism I could have was that the floor of the bar that I was performing in was so sticky that I could only imagine the Star Trek appreciation society had been meeting there that afternoon and Geri Ryan who plays 7 of 9 (like I need to tell you) had made a surpise guest appearance, unleashing an uncontrollable torrent of all possible bodily fluids - but mainly spunk. I didn't ask anyone if this is what had happened. But I think I am correct.
Russell Howard was compering. I've worked with him a couple of times before and I have to recommend him to you as he is extraordinarily funny. Just excellent flights of fancy. He's definitely the second best comedian in the world with the initials RH.
He does this gig fairly regularly and has a loyal following amongst the Lincoln students who have taken to leaving him notes and gifts on the stage. Thus mentioning the fact that he'd like a kit-kat in the first half meant he was greeted with half a dozen of the chocolate bars on the stage on his return for part two. He'd also mentioned having to give a urine sample and lo and behold there was a small plastic cup filled with yellow liquid on the stage. Mentioning stuff on stage in the hope of getting given some of it for free at a later time is a double-edged sword.
A student with the unlikely name of Ingram ("Couldn't your father spell Graham?" I asked him later) owned up to having placed the cup of piss there. Russell ran with the piss. By which I mean he incorporated it into his act. You should never run with piss, especially when the cup is filled perilously close to the top. He ignored the cries to drink the piss of a youg computer student, which I think was wise, but he did pick it up and look at it and comment that it was very fizzy. I remember looking at him and hoping he would be careful with the piss as there was a danger that the piss or his piss soaked hand would touch the microphone that I was later going to be holding with my own hand and putting up close to my mouth. I don't want to risk ingesting the urine of a bloke called Ingram... and anyone who says that I do and that they've seen me drinking litres of it at a time, is lying.
At this point I was slightly disdainful of Ingram. I thought it was a little bit nasty to bring one's piss (no matter how small a sample) into the public arena. What if the cup was knocked over and someone (say me) was to slip on the spillage and hit their head. It would make an interesting case for the Claims Direct lawyers. Though I suspect anyone called Ingram has a few bob behind them somewhere along the line.
His piss was certainly a very bright yellow. Though I'm not sure if that is a sign of aristocratic origins - unlike the blue blood thing which is more of a giveaway. Maybe he'd just had a Berocca.
Whatever the case I had a low regard for this young man at the time I stepped on to stage. Though I had some fun with him while I was up there, though was slightly disgusted to note that the microphone did have a distince whiff of uric acid about it.
I got an encore and did the magpie stuff which probably went the best of anything I did. It's only mid March and I already have at least two promising routines for Edinburgh. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to it (I'm back in the Pleasance this year too, which should hopefully be more fun for me than last).
I ended the evening massively admiring Ingram. How did my immediate reaction to him turn around so unexpectedly? It was only right at the end of the gig that he admitted that the cup of "piss" was in actual fact a cup of cider. Russell then poured the contents into the mouth of the young scamp to (hopefully) prove the veracity of his scam. What was so impressive about this was the length of time that Ingram kept up the pretence. Even when I claimed my microphone smelt of wee, he said nothing. he must have known that I was merely imagining the smell - or at least have known that the wee got on the microphone at some earlier point (maybe around the time that Geri Ryan unexpectedly appeared), but he did not blab. He let the joke continue; he let our disgust ferment like the liquid that was in the glass, only to reveal the truth at the last possible moment. It is good to have such witty audience members, even if they do have stupid names.
And imagine the kudos I would have received if I'd taken a chance and just come on and drunk the contents of the glass before I'd discovered the truth!
