11 May 2014

With my film project now moving from ‘development’ to what’s known as ‘pre-production’, I have decided to write a new blog-diary (and who knows, hopefully one day a book) about trying to get a movie made, as well as actually now making a movie.

You don’t have to read it – although you already know that. But I mention it because I’m writing it for myself more than anything. I want to catch up on my diaries and finally put my ‘film journey’ down on paper, in order, and into perspective. If you do read it, and if you know little or nothing about the film business (as I once did – and I still have so much to learn), then it might interest or even intrigue you. If you already know a lot about the film business, then it might at least amuse you. You might even recognise some of the ‘scenes’ or characters.

It will be a blog written as a present day ‘diary’, but to include ‘flashbacks’ – hopefully in the order that they occurred. You can skip the flashbacks if you like (I will indicate when they arise) – but they might help to understand where I am today with the movie (which is in a very exciting place) and, if anything, they’ll prove my determination and perseverance, or insanity. Especially if you take into account that my very first pencil-scribbled draft of the script was written in 1998 – 16 years ago – and I’d had the idea of the plot over 10 years before that – 27 years ago. So it’s taken a while. But the best things in life always do. So here goes … Making a Movie (1):

This Wednesday I am heading to Cannes for a few days, where the Cannes Film Festival (14-25 May 2014) kicks off. Mention ‘Cannes’ to most people and a glitzy, sexy extravaganza of red-carpet catwalk-premieres instantly comes to mind. A chic Croisette packed with rat-pack movie stars, hot-shot producers, botoxed-bimbos and collagen-lipped ditzy groupies, helicopters, yachts and limos full of glam, glitz, gushing or garish glitterati, a crème de la crème of waif-like femme fatales in haute couture all air-kissing one another whilst living their 15 beau monde minutes of joie de vivre.

Yeah, it’s a bit like that, I guess …

The Festival has just turned 65. This year the competition jury is comprised of 9 high profile directors, screenwriters, producers, actors and actresses, including Jane Campion, Carole Bouquet, Sofia Coppola, William Dafoe and Gael García Bernal. 18 films will compete for the prestigious ‘Palm d’Or’ (Golden Palm) in the official ‘Competition’ section – films that are representative of ‘auteur cinema with a wide audience appeal’. The 18 films include work from directors such as David Cronenberg, Jean-Luc Goddard, Tommy Lee Jones, Mike Leigh and Ken Loach. A further 21 films compete in the category of ‘Un Certain Regard’, which focuses on works that have ‘an original aim and aesthetics’. There are further films screening ‘Out of Competition’, as well as categories of ‘Midnight Screenings’, ‘Special Screenings’, ‘Cannes Classics’ (of which Sophia Loren will be the guest of honour), ‘Cinéfondation’ and a ‘Short Film Competition’. On 24 May, as well as announcing the films winning the Palm d’Or, Grand Prix or Jury Prize, awards will also be given to best director, best actor, actress, screenplay, short film, student film and first feature film.

So, yes, it’s a glitzy extravaganza of red-carpet catwalk-premieres … but that’s the Cannes Film Festival.

I’m off to the Cannes Film Market – the ‘Marché du Film’. The Cannes Film Market runs from 14-23 May, parallel to the Festival. In fact the Market rubs glitzy shoulder-pads with the Festival, so some of the glitter sticks … but it’s still … well, just a ‘market’ – and something I’ve had to learn over the years.

In November 2004, nearly 10 years ago now, I went to my first ever film market – to ‘AFM’, the American Film Market, in Santa Monica, Los Angeles. But I had absolutely no idea what it was …

(To be continued …)

My last blog about stand-up comedy was supposed to have been exactly that: my last blog about stand-up comedy. It was also an attempt to start writing up my ‘diary experiences’ from Edinburgh. An attempt to close the chapter on my attempt at stand-up comedy. But last week I was persuaded to do 5 minutes at the Ice Bar in Barcelona – my 27^th ‘attempt’. I enjoyed it. I felt relaxed. People laughed. Last night, I went along to the presentation launch of the Barcelona International Comedy Festival, and to watch some friends perform. It wasn’t planned that I would do anything at all – I had nothing ‘rehearsed’ – but I was invited up to do 4 minutes, which became 6 minutes. Again, I enjoyed it (in fact I enjoyed it so much that I think I will never ‘rehearse’ again but try to ‘be myself’). Again, I felt relaxed and people laughed. And I have now also been persuaded to participate in the festival’s ‘Funniest FICER‘ competition, with the big first prize for whoever wins it being to support Marcus Brigstocke in his closing show on 19^th October. Which made me recall seeing Marcus Brigstocke in Edinburgh, on crutches (him, not me) …

So here we go again. One year on. The very first stand-up blog started after I’d been on Logan Murray’s weekend comedy workshop, for one of his ‘Stand Up & Deliver’ courses, this time last year (he’ll be here again next week and I envy all those who will experience it for the first time). From Barcelona to New York, then Madrid, London, Edinburgh and now back to Barcelona, I have learnt a lot about the ‘craft’, a lot about myself, a lot about audiences, a lot about the business of comedy, a lot more about writing, met some great new friends, pissed myself laughing, and cringed (often) when no-one has laughed at or with me. By observing and now participating in the Barcelona International Comedy Festival again (where it all began), it will give me a chance to reflect on the year, conclude my Edinburgh diary, and share my experiences from ‘here and there’ over the coming weeks.

For example … and it’s not rocket science … but I think I felt relaxed at the Ice Bar last week, and at Carder’s last night, because I’d done 4 consecutive lunchtimes of 40 minutes in Edinburgh during August, to an audience of approximately 50 each day (with my ‘warm-up co-pilot’, Chris Groves). So all the comments I’d heard about the more you do stand-up, the easier it is … must be true. At some point I think I blogged that someone (Logan?) had said the only difference between a stand-up and someone who is not a stand-up, is that the stand-up kept on going …

Edinburgh … Friday, 9^th August 2013 – diary notes:

I’ve never been to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival before, neither as a visitor and obviously not as a participant – so I have no idea what to expect. In fact I’ve only ever been to Edinburgh once, for a few hours, for a business meeting. First impressions? Edinburgh is one big hill. The people are very friendly. Despite landing after 11.30pm on a nightmare Ryanair flight to ‘Edimburgo’, even the passport control officer has a really welcoming smile – as does the taxi rank staff, the tax driver himself, and then all the hotel staff.

We pick up a Fringe brochure at the airport and then again at the hotel. My ‘show’ is not even listed in it – one of the problems I have being registered late. It is 394 pages thick, cabaret, children’s shows, comedy, dance, physical theatre, events, exhibitions, musicals and opera, spoken word, theatre … someone had told me not to worry about not being in, but it bugs me. I am on the Ed Fringe website but not the brochure. Someone also told me that no-one is ‘going to go out of their way’ to see me – and to expect an average of 12 people each day.

We’re staying at the Premier Inn in Morrison Street – just for tonight. There’s no food at the bar when we check in. But they go out of their way to order us something from a nearby takeaway, and they keep the bar open, and they pile us with more Fringe programmes and catalogues … all the time smiling. I wonder whether I should leave some of my ‘flyers’ for my so-called ‘show’ (I don’t know what else to call it – ‘performance’?) alongside the Fringe catalogues at reception – but I don’t. Just as well. I soon realise I have a lot to learn.

I’ve been reading the reviews and hype on Edinburgh on my way over here. For comedy fans, the festival is offering the ‘traditional combination of hyped newcomers, household names and squabbles about who’s best preserving the so-called spirit of the Fringe,’ writes Brian Logan in The Guardian. He writes that the ‘latest bunfight’ has been triggered by Foster’s Comedy Award chief, Nica Burns, stating that many shows under the Free Fringe and Free Festival banners are ‘not good enough’ and offer audiences ‘an absolutely terrible experience’. An increasing number of comics ‘are staging their work for free on the Fringe, though … and this year’s crop includes Phil Jupitus and Harry Potter star Jessie Cave …

Of course there is no mention of yours truly. But I am also on the Free Fringe. The Laughing Horse Edinburgh Free Festival, which runs parallel to and is part of the Edinburgh Fringe, charge performers little or nothing (an admin fee) and, in turn, the performers do not charge audiences (although they welcome donations). As explained in Mark Fisher’s excellent The Edinburgh Fringe Survival Guide, ‘the system is possible because the venues, which are usually pubs, agree not to charge rent in return for getting increased custom at the bar, bringing as much as £10k across the month at a time of year when many people are being lured away to the many temporary bars around town. By 2011, Laughing Horse Free Festival was running 32 spaces in 15 venues and presenting over 300 shows ….

I don’t sleep so well at the Premier Inn that night. I keep trying to remind myself about the tips I’ve learnt since last October. ‘Have an attitude, a point of view, an originality. The material is almost incidental. When the audience walk out, do they remember the joke or the person?’ And: ‘Strip yourself bare; self-analysis and self-expression is your goal.’ Suffice to say it’s a restless night.

Barcelona – today – 26^th September 2013

I am now off to Las Cuevas del Sorte to watch the first heat of the Funniest FICER. It is a tough heat. Kayleigh, John, Donnie and Dani are all excellent – I have performed alongside them all and I have great admiration for them. I wish them all the best of luck. This time, I can sit back and enjoy it with a glass of Rioja. Or two …

I have shelved my attempts at ‘comedy’ for I-don’t-know-how-long and am in hiding and entrenched with writing yet another (final, final) draft of ‘the novel’. But as the Edinburgh Fringe draws to a close today, I thought it was time to at least also start updating my blog with my Edinburgh Diary to conclude the journey of my stand-up ‘experience’ over the past ten months. So here goes. It is partly scribbled, unedited present-tense notes from during the week itself, and part reflection and research afterwards, trying to put it all in to perspective. Let’s start at the end. My last night. And with Terry Alderton …

Thursday 15^th August

Terry Alderton, who is 10 years younger than me (let’s not forget that), has just invited me to his show. I know nothing about him, although I have since found out that …

Terry Alderton is an award-winning comedian, actor (Waking The Dead, The Bill, Holby City, London’s Burning), former TV presenter (National Lottery) and even a former goalkeeper (Southend United). As a comedian, in 1999 he was nominated for the Perrier Comedy Award. He has been seen on Michael McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow, Dave’s One Night Stand, Let’s Dance for Sport Relief, has performed ‘smash hit shows’ in Edinburgh in 2009, 2010, 2011 & 2012, has sold out ‘hugely successful national-tours’, and was also voted as The Sun’s Comedian of the Year 2011, and twice as Best International Act by the New Zealand Comedy Guild. Eddie Izzard, who described Terry as ‘brilliant’ and convinced him to go on tour, also told him back in 2008: ‘No-one can do what you do, I can’t do what you do – that is the brilliance of it.’ Just a few days ago (23 August) it was also announced that Alderton is to join the cast of Eastenders for a year as cockney cab driver Terry Spraggan, and will be Bianca Jackson’s (Patsy Palmer) new love interest.

Terry’s show starts at 8pm, at Pleasance Courtyard, but I am exhausted already (today was my own last lunchtime ‘performance’) and I’m not sure if I will get there in time as I don’t even have a ticket yet. It is already 7.30pm and I have just seen Mick Ferry (also seen on Michael McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and John Bishop’s Only Joking) at the Gilded Balloon’s ‘Balcony’ room in Bristo Square. I am not sure if I can handle any more comedy, either – or ever. But the review on Terry Alderton’s flyer by Broadway Baby states that he is ‘the sort of comedian that will delight the more jaded comedy fans amongst this year’s Fringe crowd’ and that he is the ‘ideal antidote for act-weary comedy fans looking for something new, and will provide an eye-opening experience for the more casual audience member. If you don’t sit down with an open mind, he might just prise it open for you anyway.’

So I should go. I am alone. I have nothing else to do. And I have an open mind.

A mutual friend (actor and comedian James Redmond) has highly recommended that I see Terry Alderton, and through an exchange of frantic last-minute text messages, Terry himself kindly tells me to quickly come to the main door. I arrive at Pleasance Courtyard by taxi just five minutes later – ten minutes before it starts – and there is already a long queue outside the Cabaret Bar waiting to file in. I feel guilty going straight to the front – being ushered in like some VIP – seeing Terry (bald, loud, charming), jumping around on stage and doing some final sound checks, yet calling out my name and finding the time to personally welcome me in, and – without really thinking – I decide to sit in an aisle seat in the front row. As Terry then disappears behind a curtain, the queue starts to follow me in, until the 175+ venue is at full capacity and the lights are dimmed.

At last I am at The Pleasance. Whilst my own Free Fringe venue at The Three Sisters had been described as the ‘Free version of the Pleasance Courtyard’, I feel I am really at the hub of it all now …

I’d been re-reading Frank Skinner’s On The Road book whilst in Edinburgh, which starts with him recounting (in August 2007) his two-week run at the Pleasance Cabaret Bar (where he’d also held his Perrier Award-winning show in 1991), exactly where I am sitting now, waiting to see Terry Alderton. Skinner described it as, “a black box of a room with a piano on a low stage in one corner, and a bar, closed during the performance, in the corner opposite. Cosy, with a capacity of 175, and smells, inevitably, of stale beer.” It is exactly that. He also wrote that there is, “A tiny dressing room, separated from the stage by only a thick black curtain. There’s no room for pacing. I [Skinner] sit amidst the racks of costumes and boxes of props from a dozen other shows that are on before or after me. The walls are covered in old posters and publicity shots, including a fat-faced me from sixteen years ago.” This is it. I am here. This is the Fringe. Then Terry Alderton comes out on stage …

Terry’s Edinburgh show has been described as a ‘spellbinding combination of noises, voices, incredible physicality and a mind-blowing insight into the inner workings of a fantastic comedy mind’. Terry has been described as a ‘master of microphone manipulation’. In Steve Bennett’s excellent and spot-on Chortle review, Terry creates a feeling of ‘bedlam’ in his shows – ‘as if you’re walking the corridors of a mental asylum with a cacophony of voices babbling away, sometimes violently, sometimes softly, but all with a terrifying belief in their own misplaced reality’. He goes on to describe it as ‘both wonderfully fluid, yet tightly executed’ – ‘a fast-paced ballet of the bizarre, sometimes literally as he carouses around the stage, carried away with his own madness’.

I cannot improve upon any of these descriptions. In my opinion, the show was brilliant and Terry Alderton is a genius. Suffice to say that I cried with laughter – literally … until he dragged me up on stage at the very end …

Sitting in the front row at any stand-up comedy show is a risk at the best of times, but I thought I would be safe. As the Chortle review continues, ‘[Alderton’s] relationship with the audience is as schizophrenic as [his] madness would suggest. He has an evil but mischievous look in his eye, as if deciding to fuck us or kill us.’ I wasn’t the only one who was picked on – in fact I got away with things lightly in comparison to those sitting alongside, and at least he didn’t try to continually kiss me. There was a joke about my hair, if I remember (there always is) – but then when I was asked what I did for a living and I replied ‘journalist’ (It’s true enough and I didn’t know what else to say – I didn’t want to admit I was an unemployed tubby magazine publisher or wannabe/blogging stand-up from Spain) – I was then subjected to a volley of noises, voices, sirens and explosions to find out if I was really a war correspondent. At the very end, whilst the crowd were applauding and cheering, Terry dragged me up on stage and behind the black curtain with him …

Terry has stripped off his T-shirt. He is laughing, pouring with sweat. I am still wiping away the tears of laughter – but I am shocked. I tell him he’s brilliant. We hug. I can hear the crowd cheering, shouting for an encore from him. He goes out on stage again to take another bow. I hear them clapping and cheering even more. Alone, briefly, I look around the tiny dressing room area. It is exactly as described in Frank Skinner’s book. I try to find his poster, but Terry suddenly comes back through the thick curtain. Again, I tell him he’s brilliant. We hug again. ‘Go out there again,’ I tell him, ‘they’re shouting for you.’ ‘Naaaah,’ he says. I almost offer to go out there and lap up the applause for him. It is a very bizarre situation. I feel I am seeing the Fringe for real, very real – backstage – hearing that crowd shout his name. I can see, feel, hear and even smell what it’s like for him. He is very pleased with the performance, I can tell – but he’s not going out there again. There’s a very quick exchange of mutual friend-type speak. He offers to come and see my own ‘show’ but I tell him not to bother and that it has now finished, anyway. He’s a great guy – charming, really charming – to find time to speak to me whilst the crowd are still cheering for him. He asks me if I want to escape ‘quietly’ out of his stage door. I explain that I have a bag under my front row seat, and so I have to head out onto the stage again myself to leave with the rest of the audience. There’s a cheer from the straggling crowd as I reappear. It is probably the best cheer I receive all week … (To be continued)

It was a week before Christmas, Tuesday 18^th December to be exact, and I learned a lot upstairs at The Library Comedy Club in Upper Street, Islington. In fact I learned a great deal about the world of stand-up from then on, too – at least London’s ‘world’. Thanks to the fabulous compere James Redmond, comedian, actor (Casualty, Hollyoaks), and admittedly a close family friend, I’d been invited along as an ‘Also on the Bill’ warm-up act to appear before professional comedians, Sara Pascoe (BBC Live at the Apollo), Joe Bor (warm-up man for The Graham Norton Show and Mock The Week), Katherine Ryan (Never Mind the Buzzcocks, 8 out of 10 Cats, Mock The Week), Pat Burtscher and Paul T.Eyres. In fact I was the only one without an ‘open brackets/Mock The Graham Norton Buzzcock Week at The Apollo/close brackets’ tab at the end of my name. But … I held my own. At least that’s what they told me – especially Katherine Ryan, who seemed very impressed that it was only my 8th time. She then said she’d been doing stand-up for 5 years and that ‘we all have to do about 10 years before we’ll be any good …’ But I thought I’d cracked it. I thought I’d sussed the art of stand-up. Admittedly I had a number of “good friends and family” in the audience (who’d all been bribed to laugh), but it was the first time I’d received something in return for ‘performing’, too – OK, I admit it was only a free Thai curry, but it tasted good. “Just think,” I thought (gettit?), “I could live on Thai curry for the rest of my life … “

I was back at The Library again on 19^th February, again as an ‘Also on the Bill’ warm-up alongside another group of professional comedians, Joel Dommett (Skins, Russell Howard’s Good News), Diane Spencer (Britain Unzipped), Tom Price (Bewitched, Torchwood) Brenda Gilhooly (Lily Savage Show), Jamie Glassman and Jo Selby. And of course I still had no ‘brackets’ after my name. I never will. I was still an ‘outsider’ and always will be, I guess. I could feel the others staring at me and inventing the ‘brackets’ for me, though … ‘Look, there’s Tim Parfitt ‘open brackets/The Tubby Git From Spain Who Thinks He’s Funny But He’s Not And He Never Will Be/close brackets’. But it didn’t faze me … nothing ever does … which is probably why I am OK with all this standing-up experience so far. I think the best thing I ever did was totally ‘bomb’ at the open-mic Broadway Comedy Club in New York on my 4^th attempt at stand-up (see blog documentary 6). Standing there for 5 minutes to complete silence – and I mean, no-one laughed at all – after Jerry, Josh, Joey, Jared and Jay had all received ecstatic and hilarious applause … well, I don’t think anything will ever faze me ever again.

Which is just well. Because whilst the February slot at The Library went well again (yes, I had some close friends and family in the audience once more, as well as the Frank Blunt ‘mockumentary’ film crew), and I got my free Thai curry again, I’ve had several ups and downs since then – and I am sure I will have several ups and downs next week in Edinburgh, too. Stand-up is a delicate art. In fact they say it is the hardest performance art. Forgive the cliché, but doing it really is like a roller-coaster ride. When it is ‘down’, it is dire. It is cringeing. When it is ‘up’ – when people are laughing, really laughing – it is thrilling, it is a wonderful feeling – and it is something you just want to repeat … and so you forget the possible cringeing moments to search for it again. So I guess it is a drug.

In between the two Library ‘gigs’ of December and February, I then bombed in Barcelona again at Carder’s Pub on 19^th January – made worse by the fact that I’d dragged my partner along to see me for the very first time. She cringed all night at the sound of non-laughter (so I didn’t need to). Again, I wasn’t so fazed. I kept telling her that it’s ‘not normally that bad’ – but I don’t think she believed me. I went back to London for the month of February and threw myself in to the open-mic circuit with the Frank Blunt film crew following me to most of the venues (some of which I have already blogged about). I did a 1-minute ‘audition’ at The Albany’s Comedy Cellar for the annual Amused Moose Comedy Awards supported by BBC’s 2 Entertain. I was hoping to get some real brackets after my name but I never heard back from them ‘open brackets/pretty unsurprisingly/close brackets’. For 5 nights running, I did up to 5-10 minutes at The Freedom Fridge Comedy Club (Torriano pub) in Kentish Town, at the Free & Funny at The Camden Head Pub in Islington, at the Pear Shaped Comedy at The Fitzroy Tavern in the West End, at ‘Comedy Virgins’ at The Cavendish Arms in Stockwell – and, of course, I lasted a full 1 minute, 47 seconds at the infamous ‘King Gong’ at The Comedy Store (that still put me  9^th out of 30).

Back in Spain during the Spring, I waited for the Edinburgh Fringe to be finally confirmed – then once it was I realised I was committing myself to a full 50 minute slot (even up to 1 hour) over four consecutive lunchtimes. I have tried to practise some sections of it just twice … and only last month. Thanks to some close friends, I was invited to ‘rehearse’ my act at a tennis club dinner on 19^th July … but I bombed. The ‘humour’ didn’t work, but also I should have never used props (especially having never used props up to now). It was my 21^st attempt at comedy and again, almost my last (despite Edinburgh). I have since vowed to never attempt stand-up ‘outdoors’ again, nor whilst there is a table of 6 ‘late arrivals’ directly in front of me, choosing loudly what they are going to eat from the blackboard being held up high in front of them; nor whilst one of their party – fat, bald, pretty bloody ugly, actually – continues to talk loudly through my entire act or then proceeds to wave CDs in the air, offering them for sale, CDs that are apparently of the band that will be appearing after me and which he can’t wait for – in fact he is only interested in hearing them, as he stuffs his fat face quickly and then puts his fat fingers in his fat bald ears whilst I am trying to tell a story about fucking Tourette’s, the fat bastard …

But then the second time I practised (without props), it was much (or at least slightly) better. I managed 35 minutes in Carder’s Pub in Barcelona on Monday 22^nd July, my last attempt at stand-up prior to Scotland, thanks to the support of SUCK (Stand Up Comedy Kills) regular Chris Groves, who will now also be supporting me in Edinburgh. At the moment I am still unprepared – but in a sense, I need to be. I don’t want Edinburgh to be too rehearsed. I want Edinburgh to be … relaxed, fun, spontaneous.

My ‘show’ is on the official Fringe website and the venue that I have been allocated is The Three Sisters (renamed Free Sisters for the Free Fringe). Described as ‘the biggest free venue in Edinburgh, quite often referred to as the Free version of the Pleasance courtyard … it is the epicentre of free fringe shows, where people come to watch shows, hang out or party away, with a huge variety of performance spaces to choose from.’ I have been given ‘Maggie’s Front Room’ there (I like the name ‘Maggie’) which is described as a venue ‘with a 60 seat capacity, cabaret style, small stage on the flat and full PA system’. The posters promoting my ‘Speedy Boarding’ spiel have been printed and we are ready to ‘flyer’ everyone we see from Saturday onwards. All I now need to do is to print off my Ryanair boarding pass to avoid a 70 euro charge for doing so at the airport …

So … Edinburgh here I come. Writing this blog has helped me to put in perspective the ‘journey’ of setting out as a ‘hobby’ on the stand-up circuit, but certainly getting hooked by it. I think a final Edinburgh ‘diary’ will be the culmination of this specific blog, or at least I believe it should be – but never say never. Even though I say so myself, I am very proud of having ‘had a go’, with or without any brackets after my name.

A week today, I would have just completed the first of 4 lunchtime stand-up performances at the Edinburgh Free Fringe – and I will be getting legless out of relief or shame or both. I know all this because Ryanair have emailed to remind me. Okay, they didn’t actually remind me about the stand-up or legless stuff, they simply emailed to cheerfully say, ‘5 Days Till Takeoff’ … as apparently I fly to Edinburgh from Barcelona on Friday night. I don’t know what I am dreading more: flying Ryanair, or the sound of no laughter whilst ‘performing’ in Scotland.

‘You are travelling soon and here is some information you need to know,’ they wrote, which is appropriate, seeing as the thinly-disguised theme of my stand-up is ‘Speedy Boarding’. I scanned down the email for the vital information that I needed to know. There was a lot of stuff about ‘mandatory online check-ins’ and ‘10kg cabin bag allowance’ and whether I wanted a ‘£15 Photo Book Voucher’ or a ‘Ryanair Official Cabin Bag’ or a ‘Hop on, Hop off, Edinburgh City Sightseeing Tour’ or whether I wanted to ‘Play & Win the Value of My Booking’ … but nothing about why I was heading to Edinburgh in the first place, nor what information I needed to improve my ‘performance’ or deal with the Scottish hecklers that I am sure to face …

But I am heading to Edinburgh and there is no turning back. Which provokes me to now bring this blog up to date over the next few days so that I can keep a ‘live’ diary whilst there, and to try and put in perspective why I am putting myself through all this.

Barcelona, New York, Madrid, London … now Edinburgh.

Here are the facts and figures: my first attempt at stand-up (see Standing-Up: The Documentary 3) was in Las Cuevas del Sorte, Barcelona, on Sunday 7^th October last year, just 10 months ago. During these 10 months, I have repeated the experience only 22 times – with performance times ranging from just 90 seconds to a one-off 35 minutes. For a short period, a ‘mockumentary’ film-crew followed me around – and there is a rumour that they will be reappearing to stalk me again in Edinburgh. If Ryanair can deliver me there safely, I am scheduled to do 4 consecutive ‘lunchtimes’ of approximately 50 minutes each, which is certainly 3 lunchtimes too many. I am therefore totally and utterly nuts.

In my last blog, written in early May, I wrote that I ‘might try stand-up again in the autumn’. That was because Edinburgh hadn’t yet been confirmed and I’d almost given up.

So … to pick up the thread … my 7^th attempt at stand-up, after Barcelona and New York, was in Madrid on Thursday 22 November.  I’d been invited to participate (or maybe I’d invited myself) by a great bunch of guys, Dáire McGill, Dan Feist, Just Shaun and Toni Rodriguez, who run and perform in ‘Freshly Squeezed English Comedy’ in Spain. I’d like to think that I didn’t let them down – although I also think they’d been hoping for a larger crowd as they’d been plugging the show on the back of my Madrid book. It was great to be able to ‘spiel’ in one of my favourite cities in the world. The venue was small – a smoky Madrileño bar called Yllana in the Calle Pez. We started around 10pm and the material included some Spanish tongue-twisters or ‘trabalenguas’. Somewhere on YouTube I believe there is a cringeing clip of the performance split over two videos – although at the time I wasn’t aware they had a camera attached to the side of the tiny stage to highlight my 4 chins. The best part of the evening, however, was watching the Freshly Squeezed boys performing ‘Improv’ – a totally new experience for me – something I’d never watched before – they were hysterical. If you are ever in Madrid, I strongly recommend that you go along to watch these very talented performers.

So, this again was supposed to be the last stand-up ‘effort’ I’d do. But 7 days later I suddenly found that I had alot of time on my hands. I would also need to seriously ‘up’ my performance as I was heading to The Library Comedy Club in London (to be continued) …

In a few hours I’m going along to see the stand-up comedian, Adam Bloom, who is performing in my home town. Ricky Gervais has described him as being one of his favourite stand-ups for about ten years (ten years – get it? – please see the previous chapter of this blog, if not). ‘Bloom,’ says Gervais, ‘not only has meticulous, brilliant lines, but also an intense and fragile honesty.’

I’m looking forward to it. Just Googling and scanning Bloom’s biography, the superlatives keep hitting me as fast as his own ‘light-speed wit’. He is described as ‘the perfect comedian’ and ‘one of the cleverest and most inventive comics’ and he ‘remains in the highest division’ and ‘in the premier league of comedy’ … which has finally prompted me to get round to updating this blog and explain why I am not in the premier league of comedy. In fact I’m not in any league. I’m not even in the Comedy Conference League Sub-Division 9 South West Subsection Subnormal Minor League. And I probably never will be. I’m too old. Too podgy. Too unfunny. Too … grey.

But at least I tried. And I might try again in the autumn … or before the end of this year. Once I get the novel done and all the other stuff done that needs doing.

It was my great friend David Benson who first suggested I wrote about my experiences of trying to be a stand-up. He thought it would be funnier than me actually being a stand-up. As he is unable to laugh with me in person at Adam Bloom’s show tonight, I thought I’d dedicate this chapter to him – and a quick story he’s just missed but might enjoy.

To pick up the thread of the last blog, though … Friday night had been a late one, and I’d lost my keys, had to spend the night at a friend’s flat and use his egg-cups as contact lens pots … I was in a terrible state … but I’d committed to do some stand-up for the SUCK (Stand-Up Comedy Kills) show at Las Cuevas del Sorte that next night (Sat 3rd Nov). Many friends were coming – including David – and he told me that I should perhaps simply relate what had happened to me the night before for the stand-up. ‘Funny things happen to you,’ he said. ‘Just tell them.’ In the end, I used some of it but not all. I practised with David in a bar opposite Las Cuevas before I went on – and he promised to laugh out loud during the act itself. Which he did. He recorded it on his iPhone, too – but you can’t hear me … only him laughing. That’s friendship for you.

David, you should have been with me the other night, to watch Bayern Munich finish off FC Barcelona. I watched it in a bar – and had travelled there by bicycle. It’s a new bicycle. I’m not an expert at cycling but I thought it was time to try. After the match, and after a few drinks, to cheer myself up I decided to cycle home with a takeaway curry (from that same restaurant we took our sons to recently). Simple enough, no? Chicken curry. Boiled rice. They’d packed it all very nicely – in those little foil-lined cartons with cardboard lids, plus some naan bread – and they’d placed it all in a paper carrier bag, which I then hooked on to the handlebars. They even waved me off. I waved back. As I cycled as fast as I could (I was starving and I didn’t want it to all get cold), I tried to stop the bag from swaying and rocking against the wheel as much as I could, but it wasn’t easy. It certainly smelt delicious, I thought, as I peddled faster – but I had to focus on the road and I never really looked down to see if the bag was OK. I clicked the apartment block’s garage door to open as soon as I approached home – and as I cycled inside, it definitely smelt as if some neighbours had ordered curry, too. It was only when I unhooked the paper bag from the handlebars that I noticed it was soggy and that the bottom of the bag had half-disintegrated. There was chicken curry all over the front wheel of my bicycle, which had been spraying up over my clothes. I rushed for the lift, with spots of orangey-brown liquid dripping from me at every step. When I saw my image in the lift mirror it looked as if someone had crop-sprayed me with curry. I threw the remains of the paper bag in a basin as I jumped in the shower, fully-clothed. The lift still stank of curry in the morning – and still does. Next time I will ask them to deliver. (To be continued).

OK … here’s what I’ve learned so far about stand-up. It’s f***ing hard. I’d almost given up. I’m probably still giving up. In fact, I’ll probably always, almost be giving up. But I’ve promised to participate at a SUCK event again this coming Saturday in Barcelona, so I can’t give up until at least Sunday.

On the Logan Murray course, we were told that the secret of stand-up comedy is to ‘persevere’ and that ‘if you keep performing, you will get better’. I’m not sure about that second bit. I ‘kept performing’ in New York but the second ‘performance’ was such a nightmare, I didn’t dare try a third. But I guess what they mean is ‘practise makes perfect’. Or the “6 P’s” as Frank Blunt calls it: Perfect Practise Prevents Piss-Poor Performance … or something like that.

But for how long should one keep persevering? That is the question …

Logan said something about the difference between a stand-up comedian and someone who isn’t a stand-up comedian, is that the person who isn’t a stand-up comedian gave up.

Louis C.K., the stand-up star of the moment, is 45. I read a New York Times interview with him the other day in which he said, ‘It was a horrible process to get to this. It took me my whole life. If you’re new at this – and by “new at it”, I mean 15 years in, or even 20 – you’re just starting to get traction. Young musicians believe they should be able to throw a band together and be famous, and anything that’s in their way is unfair and evil. What are you, in your 20s, you picked up a guitar? Give it a minute.” That’s Louis C.K., remember, who’s 45, and who’s been doing stand-up for some 28 years.

I am 52 and 364 days old.

I then recently read another interview ‘conversation’ between Steve Martin and David Walliams in the April edition of British GQ. Walliams asks Martin how long it took him to find his own comedy style. ‘At least ten years,’ says Martin. From what age? ‘I would say 18, when I got out of high school. Then I did stand up for 18 years. I’d say that ten of those years were spent learning and four years were spent refining.’ Steve Martin is 67. (I repeat – I am already 52 and 364 days old).

When I was doing an open-mic comedy night in London during February, a girl comedian congratulated me and asked me how long I’d been doing it. I explained it was my 12^th attempt. ‘Jeeeeez,’ she said. ‘I’ve been doing it for 5 years. They say we all have to do at least 10 years before we’ll be any good … ’ At the time, I thought she was nuts. But I now understand what she meant.

John Bishop is 46. Born November 1966, he performed stand-up comedy for the first time in October 2000 … so I calculate he would have still been ‘just’ 33. Six years later (let’s say aged 39), he became a full-time comedian. Three years later, 2009 (aged 42) he appeared on Michael McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and his career went into the stratosphere. I repeat: I’m 52 and 364 days old, so he already had 10 years on me when his career hit that stratosphere …

So, what am I doing and why? I don’t know, but I enjoy it. I actually see stand-up as an extension of writing – another form of expression – instead of waiting to have something published on paper or electronically, you get the chance to spiel your thoughts out loud (whether anyone laughs or not). I’m learning a lot – about comedy, about myself, about writing, about being patient and impatient, about a lot of stuff. But why I ever thought that stand-up comedy would be easy, or something you could pick up quickly, God only knows. I’ve learned that it is probably the hardest form of ‘entertainment’. I have respect for every single wannabe comedian I have met on the circuit to date – and even more whose careers have already hit the stratosphere (or are well on the ladder to it). And Louis C.K.’s comments (I can hear him saying, ‘What are you, in your 20s, you picked up a guitar? Give it a minute’) about young musicians seeking instant fame are spot on. Learning the craft of stand-up has to be the same (if not harder) as any other ‘art’ form: learning the piano, learning to paint, learning to write, learning to sing, dance, act, direct a movie, do sculpture, sketch cartoons, take beautiful photographs … it goes on and on. What right did I have to think it would be any different to any other art form? I’ve been writing since I was 16. It took me 30 years to get a book published. I wrote 4 (unpublished) novels before the age of 23. I have hundreds of rejections. I’ve written 25 drafts of a screenplay that has been ‘in development’ on and off for 8 years. I write something every day. I read. I practise. I re-write. In front of me on my desk where I am writing right now, there is a message that says: ‘Joe Eszterhas wrote Basic Instinct at 48. Julian Fellowes won an Oscar for Gosford Park at 52. Don’t give up.’ Stand-up should be no different … but I admit that I have only just realised that. So, no, I won’t give up. I will give the craft of stand-up the time and the respect that it deserves. My birthday present to myself is to find the time to keep practising, performing and learning (and writing about it – on top of everything else), even though I will probably be senile by the time I finally suss it all out … if I’m not senile already.

Something I want and need to work on quickly, therefore, is how to combine ‘storytelling’ with ‘one-liners’. The reason I need to combine them is because I’m definitely not a one-liner guy … I love stories … but I’ve also learned that telling a story at a dinner party or to mates in the pub is very different to telling it on stage in front of 100 strangers. If they don’t laugh, you’re dead … and it hurts.

To pick up the thread from the last blog, it was Friday Nov 2^nd last year, the night before I’d been invited to perform in Barcelona’s SUCK ‘Stand Up Comedy Kills’ at Las Cuevas del Sorte (same place as this Saturday). It would be my 6^th attempt at trying stand-up and I’d decided that I had to come up with some new material as I’d already thrashed my bee-sting spiel to death in New York and Barcelona. That same week, I’d been to Paris for my day-job and suffered the worst attack of man-flu on the flight over, whilst squashed between two huge, snoring Spaniards on a Vueling flight. I had no tissues or anything with me … it was hideous … and it all got steadily worse after arriving at Orly airport, too. But I laughed at myself, and thought I could use it for the stand-up on Saturday. I wanted to try and continue to tell true stories, things that had happened or were happening to me. I hadn’t really written or rehearsed anything, though – I just knew what I wanted to relate. That night, though, there were a few of us out for tapas, it turned in to a late night, I met someone (totally gorgeous), we went on to a club, I lost my keys, but I then had to spend the night at a friend’s flat and use his egg-cups as contact lens pots … and I thought, maybe this is even funnier than having man-flu in Paris … (to be continued)

I had a phone call this lunchtime from Frank Blunt, the documentary film-maker. He’s back in Glossop, Derbyshire, and he sounded breathless and excited – or maybe just pissed. He said he’d been viewing some of the footage this morning of his ‘no-nonsense Frankumentary’ on stand-up comedy together with his producers, and they’re now commissioning him to make a series of episodes on the subject. Or at least that’s what he hopes. He’d gone to the meeting with other ideas, ‘in case the footage was shit’ (his words) – and he was about to suggest a documentary on ‘the world of belly-dancing’ instead (apparently because his neighbour’s a belly-dancer and he’s videoed her), or ‘the world of binge drinking’ (ditto), but the producers loved all his comedy interviews and want to extend it. He then said something about it being the happiest day of his career, matched only by winning ‘Derbyshire’s Amateur Podcaster of the Year Award’ in 2011, or something. There was a lot of background noise, so I didn’t catch it all. It sounded like he was in a Glossop pub.

He then asked how my 30 minute ‘show’ was coming along.
‘What show?’ I said.
‘Your show for the Edinburgh Fringe, lad,’ he said.
‘Mr.Blunt … ’ I said. ‘Frank … are you serious?’
‘Of course I am, lad,’ came the reply. ‘We need to film you rehearsing it and then performing it at the Fringe and all.’

And all? All what? He went on to remind me that I’d suggested my ‘one man, 30 minute show’ would be called ‘The Speedy Boarding Tour’ and that’s exactly what he’d ‘sold’ to his producers, and so ‘don’t let me down, lad’.

‘But I haven’t started writing it,’ I said.
‘Then get on with it, lad!’ he cried. ‘New material, too. We don’t want any more of your piss-poor stories about bee-stings, phobias, or Marmite-stained pants. Try to write something fucking funny! At least tell some jokes!’

Charming. And with that, he hung up – after telling me that he’d show me some of the footage ‘soon’, but it wasn’t clear if I’d have to go to Glossop or London for that, or if he’s coming back over here.

‘Piss-poor stories about bee-stings and phobias’ … that hurt, Frank … but he’s probably right. And it’s true that I’d said I would aim for a 30-minute ‘Speedy Boarding’ show for Edinburgh or something, but I didn’t think Frank had been listening. He was getting loud and plastered on Pale Ale at the bar of The Comedy Store in London at the time, but I guess he’s seen and heard it all again on the footage …

It had been his idea for me to focus on phobias and then immediately go in to the bee-sting story whilst following me around the open-mics in London – but after listening to it all more than 10 times, he was probably looking forward to a bit of belly-dancing and binge-drinking instead. So he’s right – we’ll need some new material.

So … Frank has now got me thinking and analysing everything to see if there’s anything I have done that he hasn’t seen, and that could be used in a ‘Speedy Boarding’ tour. Probably not. Or maybe there is …

In my last blog-post on stand-up, I was recounting the night of the Barcelona International Comedy Festival’s ‘newcomers’ final – last Friday 19th October. It was only my fifth time at trying stand-up – and no, I didn’t win. I remember the MC, Stephen Garland, announcing that Josep Catala had won with the words, ‘Josep has just 2 or 3 guests in this 200-strong audience, but he had you all in the palm of his hand’. It was true. He was brilliant. He should go on to great things. I will always remember my 18 or so friends there to support me – the jokes and drinks we shared afterwards – and I hope I didn’t let anyone down. I managed to get laughs and applause during my 7-minute act, but there’s nothing I can take to Edinburgh. (And by the way, Mr.Blunt, I don’t even know how we do Edinburgh. I have never even been to the Fringe. I will find out if we still have time to register.)

The whole experience of taking part in the comedy competition in Barcelona had been positive. It had spurred me on to do the Logan Murray weekend course in the first place, to overcome every possible fear and participate in two open-mic nights in New York – and I genuinely felt wiser and less ‘shy’ for having done it all. I’d also met some great new friends. At the time, I thought it would all end there. A great experience, but thanks very much and goodnight. But as we were all saying our ‘adioses’ at gone midnight in the foyer of the Auditori de L’Orfeó Gracienc in the heart of the Gràcia district of Barcelona, a guy called Chris Groves came up to me and handed me a flyer. Chris is a fun, talented guy and had been on the Logan Murray course with us – and I’d heard Josep Catala thanking him for all his encouragement during his short yet hilarious ‘acceptance speech’. I knew that Chris was in some way involved with a comedy club in Barcelona, but I didn’t know much else.

I looked at the flyer and it said, “Stand Up Comedy Kills. SUCK is a Barcelona-based stand up comedy collective, performing in different venues around town on a monthly basis. Our next show is on November 3rd at 9.30pm, Las Cuevas del Sorte, c/Gignàs, 2 (Gòtic).”

‘Will you perform?’ asked Chris.
I nodded and thanked him.
I would have to come up with some new material … some of which Frank hasn’t seen … (to be continued).

I’m back and so is this blog. Frank Blunt and his documentary team are back in town, too – but they’re not letting on when or where they’re going to film next. It’s to do with their ‘fly-on-the-wall’ psychology bollocks. (Who came up with ‘fly-on-the-wall’ in the first place? What fly? Whose wall?) Anyway, I’ve told them that they should come along to tonight’s SUCK show here in Barcelona, where it all began.

So … where was I? Friday 19th October last year was the day of the Barcelona International Comedy Festival’s ‘newcomers’ final. The winner would be supporting Rich Hall, the American comedian, writer and musician, in his one-man show in Madrid and/or Barcelona. It would be my fifth time only at trying stand-up, having practised my bee-sting spiel during 2 open-mic nights in New York (on top of the day job, of course).

Before heading to JFK, I’d dashed into a Barnes & Noble store to buy a couple of comedy CDs to listen to on the plane. I grabbed one by a guy called Louis CK (I promise that I’d never heard of him) and another by Jim Gaffigan (nor him). Why? I liked the look of the CD covers. I have never laughed out loud so much on a flight … but that’s another story …

I arrived at Barcelona airport at 7am on Weds 17th October. I then had to spend two days in Madrid and returned to Barcelona yet again by 5pm on the Friday. It was raining. The final was to be held at the Auditori de L’Orfeó Gracienc in the heart of the Gràcia district of Barcelona, starting at 10pm. I got there by 9pm.

The theatre held around 240 and apparently it would be a ‘sell-out’. I was well aware that a group of friends from my home town of Sitges were planning to come along to support me that night. I am not going to mention names but there were about 18 of them in the end – amazing – I will never forget that support, that friendship. There were colleagues from the original Logan Murray course, too – and other faces that I recognised from the final heat that I’d entered. Even my ex had sent me a good luck message. I replied to say that it would be great to see her there but it didn’t happen. I knew it was impossible.

I didn’t feel nervous, not at first. Probably because I’d struggled alongside Jerry, Josh, Joey, Jared and Jay at the NY Comedy Club and then bombed atrociously in front of the Bronx and Harlem dudes at the Broadway Club, I now felt that I could come to little harm in the Gràcia district of Barcelona, where the audience, at least from the wings prior to the start of the show, sounded like they were out to enjoy themselves. I peeped out at one point and saw all my friends from Sitges. Then I felt nervous. I also felt a responsibility to not let them down, or myself. They’d come in to Barcelona especially to see me … and in the rain! Would my bumble-bee spiel be enough to not bugger up their precious Friday night? No, is the answer. Which is why it was great that one act in particular stole the show.

There were 9 of us in the final: Matt, Dan, Robert, Noah, Pamela, Kayleigh, Josep, Daniel and me. I have nothing but utter admiration for each and every one of them. It’s odd, but it now being my fifth time, I’d now come to feel and understand the comradeship and mutual support that goes on behind the scene. You can only congratulate and encourage another person doing stand-up. You know what they are going through or have just gone through, before or after their act. I was set to go on third from last, in the second half. All acts before me were going well, but one in particular, Josep Catala, the only Catalan amongst us and performing in English, was hilarious. As soon as he walked out, the applause was immense. When he started his spiel about the lyrics of a Lady Gaga song, delivered in his slow Catalan-English accent, ‘Don’t call my name, don’t call my name, Alejandro … I’m not your babe, I’m not your babe, Fernando,’ the audience were in hysterics. I think ‘backstage’ there and then, listening to it, the rest of us all knew he’d won. In a sense, I think it took the pressure off. I relaxed. Eventually Stephen Garland, the MC, introduced me to go on stage. I walked out, holding a bottle of water. There were 200 people clapping and cheering, hyped up by Stephen. I heard a couple of people shout my name. But I couldn’t see anyone. I could only see the front row. They were smiling. They wanted to have a good time. So did I. (to be continued)

I’ve just heard that Frank Blunt and his documentary crew are returning next Tuesday to follow me around for another week. As if 10 days at London open-mics wasn’t enough, he now wants to see another SUCK show in Barcelona to see if the comedy has ‘improved’, and to interview me about my ‘one-man 40-minute stand-up show’ that I am apparently supposed to be writing for Brighton and then the Edinburgh Fringe. He also sent me a link to an interview about Jack Whitehall. The thing that struck me was not a quote from Whitehall himself but from Stephen Armstrong, The Sunday Times’ comedy critic, who says, ‘The truth is that nobody goes into stand-up comedy unless they are damaged in some way … ’

Well, if you’re not damaged before you try stand-up comedy, you’re certainly damaged at some point by it. I still feel damaged by that Broadway Comedy Club experience in New York – the hot flush at the nape of my neck which felt as if the back of my brain was in flames, but also the drained, dried-up mouth, the utter embarrassment of the audience’s silence, and the feeling of wanting a trap-door on the stage to suddenly open and swallow me up for good. Why it had gone so bad, I have no idea – but it was only my 4^th attempt so I guess it was to be expected. It’s just that I hadn’t expected it. The cheerleader-hyper girl-compere didn’t help, warming (and warning) everyone up before I staggered on stage that, “Our next comedian is an Englishman and I just l-u-r-v-e his English accent and so will you!” But they didn’t. Especially when that accent became affected by an imaginary bumble-bee stinging my top lip. In fact I don’t think the Bronx and Harlem dudes who’d been on before me and who’d all done varying routines on fat hookers, blind homosexuals or how Jesus masturbates … could understand a word I said at all. Which explains the silence, I guess. I got out of there as soon as I could, after listening to more ‘jokes’ about Jews, gang-rape, cervical cancer and Einstein’s penis. Later, I learnt that a friend also visiting New York had turned up at the club to see me. Luckily I’d already left, saving us both the embarrassment – especially for him having to watch me.

I decided that stand-up was not for me. I would take part in the final of the Barcelona Comedy Festival competition on Friday 19th October, but afterwards I would ‘retire’ gracefully. Besides, I had no more material other than my bee-sting story – and I was determined not to have to resort to jokes about Ray Charles or David Blunkett. But then I met up with a girlfriend for dinner at Tao restaurant on 58^th Street, between Madison and Park. There, a bouncer, complete with walkie-talkie-ear-‘mic’, insisted on standing right beside me and staring at me whilst I visited the ‘restroom’. I couldn’t pee. I started to giggle. I thought, ‘This could be material.’  All through dinner, still desperate to pee, I thought about comedy. I thought about simple situations that had happened to me. I suddenly felt determined to one day make those Bronx and Harlem dudes laugh. Maybe I’d caught the bug … (to be continued)