It is done.

In advance I’d like to apologise for the late P today. I’m knackered and I have a hangover.

A few weeks ago some berk that occasionally uses this site to peddle his filthy wares correctly guessed that I was going to do some stand-up. Of course I denied all. I believe there was a wager in question to the tune of £10, or something, £10 he now owes me because I fobbed him off, and therefore won.

The venue was small; indeed, if it wasn’t from the generous support from my friends (I was actually rather touched that so many came and so many that couldn’t were so supportive) the audience would’ve been effectively halved. To be honest I was, initially, a bit disappointed by the turn out of strangers. My friends already know what a thumping great git I am and stood up in front them telling them stuff I wouldn’t even put on here wasn’t dong much to steady my pre gig nerves. Besides I know that a lot of them would’ve been feeling nervous by proxy and even if I’d come on like Bill Hicks may have been too stunned to react.

Urban Woo made an excellent MC, a task I would no more undertake than I would eat a Cornish pasty full of Tortoise turds and gelled all the acts into one seamless set as I paced up and down in the green room (I always wondered why it was thus named, I now know) trying to remember 9 minutes of material.

The other comics, 3 of which were pros and 4 of which weren’t, had all done this sort of thing before, some of them for years, and were rather surprised that this was my debut. The first guy on was bloody good, I wasn’t sure if this was a necessarily a good thing from my point of view so I decided to take myself off to the bar (I’d already had a couple of pints) to drink whisky and chain smoke. After a couple of other comics and what seemed like an age I was given a sparkling introduction and there I was.

The thing is, when you’re actually up there doing it it’s quite hard to get much of an idea of how it’s actually going, which sounds a odd –maybe it’s something that comes with practice, I was too busy trying to remember my set, a quarter of which I fortuitously forgot (I say ‘fortuitously’ because apparently the girl-kissing-after-sucking is very old hat) and ensure that I didn’t waffle my lines. Apart from when I’m blowing my wad I don’t think I’ve ever felt less like ‘me’. The adrenalin rush that I was expecting afterwards didn’t really happen; this may have had something to do with a sense of sheer confusion following coming off stage as I came back into myself.

According to friends, strangers and the other comics I went down very well. I was required to interrogate the opinions of all my friends to make sure they weren’t just being nice. There were 3 in particular that would’ve told me outright if they thought I was shit (my bro being one) and apparently, I wasn’t. Indeed, within minutes of getting off the stage I had other bookings.

I’m too knackered to write anymore, but like some dreadful curse I’ll be back Monday. Have nice weekends.