I've gone crazy for the stand-up. I'm literally obsessed with it and have started to think of it as some sort of career despite having only done it for a month now (a month today in fact!) and having not earnt one penny from the fucking thing. But all good things come to those who wait (and are funny).
Last week I entered a competition evening in trendy trendy slightly wanky Hoxton called Very Open Mic....and won! It turns out tales of my ex-boyfriend's penis are funny. First prize was an 8-minute featured spot the following week. Eagerly I tell my parents, "pop along Mum and Dad! It'll be a chance to watch me do my stand-up for the very first time!". I also say to my boyfriend, "you're coming too, so get on a train you prick". We all show up for the gig last night to be greeted by an audience of.......zero. Well, one if you count Dale the promoter....sorry....."promoter", as he obviously didn't promote enough. So we decided to recruit audience members from the streets of the West End to come to the Piccadilly Circus venue I'd written my blisteringly hilarious set for.
First stop....a youth hostel round the corner. Dale immediately finds 4 Italian teenage girls, 1 of which speaks English. We drag them back to the top room of the pub which immediately makes them all think, "oh great, we're being sex trafficked" but no girls, it's far worse. You're going to have a very inexperienced hyper English female stand-up fire material at you that is in a language you don't understand AND probably isn't remotely funny. Luckily the English speaking Italian girl translated throughout which meant I did a lot of pausing.
If I ever get famous in any capacity and end up on Jonathan Ross, I know which anecdote will crop up.
Those girls are all dead now.
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