Tonight, I did a short spot at Touching
Cloth on Folgate Street (I've shared this extra nugget of geographical information for anyone out there with a fetish for topography; you people make me SICK).
I felt more relaxed than I did last night, which helped me out with my set. The gig was sparsely populated, but they were a nice bunch. The guy who opened, who's name I didn't catch, was great; he had that right mix of confidence and likeability, which somehow made me feel more at ease with going on myself. The show had a different host to usual, Chester Constable, who was also very nice and comfortable to watch; he reminded me of my favourite 'likeable' comic, Tom Goodliffe.
The only fly in the ointment was when an act laughed sarcastically at an aside I made whilst chatting with the emcee, after leaving the stage. It was clearly for the benefit of the people he was sitting with; an irritating moment of feigning superiority, with the assumption I wouldn't pick up on it. Well, I did. What's the point of being like that? Why be a bully? You can't pick on someone as hyper-aware as me and think I won't clock it; plus anything negative you think about me I've probably already thought myself. Just ask my therapist.
The gig was very friendly and useful, despite this little blip. The guy who runs the night, Frank Cassidy, is a thoroughly good egg. I'm back there next week, when I plan to try some material about the steely-eyed man-bear Paul Hollywood; stay tuned to find out it works. I like to keep my reader(s) on tenterhooks.
I felt more relaxed than I did last night, which helped me out with my set. The gig was sparsely populated, but they were a nice bunch. The guy who opened, who's name I didn't catch, was great; he had that right mix of confidence and likeability, which somehow made me feel more at ease with going on myself. The show had a different host to usual, Chester Constable, who was also very nice and comfortable to watch; he reminded me of my favourite 'likeable' comic, Tom Goodliffe.
The only fly in the ointment was when an act laughed sarcastically at an aside I made whilst chatting with the emcee, after leaving the stage. It was clearly for the benefit of the people he was sitting with; an irritating moment of feigning superiority, with the assumption I wouldn't pick up on it. Well, I did. What's the point of being like that? Why be a bully? You can't pick on someone as hyper-aware as me and think I won't clock it; plus anything negative you think about me I've probably already thought myself. Just ask my therapist.
The gig was very friendly and useful, despite this little blip. The guy who runs the night, Frank Cassidy, is a thoroughly good egg. I'm back there next week, when I plan to try some material about the steely-eyed man-bear Paul Hollywood; stay tuned to find out it works. I like to keep my reader(s) on tenterhooks.
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