The last Britcom tonight and it was a cracker. The atmosphere in the dressing room was skittish and fun and the audience were much more up for it than last night. I could tell from how I felt as I walked on stage that it was going to be a good one. I was confident, feeling that the stage belonged to me, whilst yesterday I now realised, I had been more reserved and insular. I am sure a lot of this was to do with the mood of the audience (and maybe the other comics), yet it's one of the tiny, subtle differences in this job that I hope will fascinate me for as long as I do it. I did slightly different material, incorporating a truncated version of the pomme de terre bit, with the Lion Bar reference changed to Mars Bar (how can they not have Lion Bars here? They have spent all their snack technology budget on expanding Wotsits to monstrous sizes, no doubt). I was riffing and being cheeky and pesky and it was all good fun – just miles more enjoyable than last night.
Even though we have only done three nights together it seemed slightly sad to be breaking up the team. I wouldn't miss any of the comedians, (especially not Micky Hutton who is playing the guitar in John Maloney's act and was making several desperate attempts to get mentioned in my blog, as I left him out yesterday. His abysmal impression of a pig must never be recorded in any written medium and I will not be giving the Hanger 17 star the oxygen of publicity. All I can say is he has fallen a long way since appearing on Hearts of Gold with Esther Rantzen. Do you remember him in that? No. No-one does). But it will be difficult operating in the real world without a young woman to constantly top up my bowls of crisps and sweets the minute they are just an eighth depleted. I was tempted to just keep eating giant Wotsits until all her reserves were exhausted, to see what she would do, but every time the bottom of the giant Wotsit bowl was in danger of being seen she'd be there with her gigantic giant Wotsit bag, pouring in more. I think she probably had a never ending supply. Or at least enough to accommodate a million greedy, cheese-based-snack-hungry comedians arriving unexpectedly.
A few of the comics had to head off for other gigs, but the rest of us headed back to the Hyatt bar (Wes and me having liberated a couple of bottles of beer each from the green room fridge to avoid paying the ludicrous prices). Loads of Americans had arrived today and the bar filled up a lot more than the last couple of nights, though I wasn't interested in schmoozing and pretty much just chatted to the Brit and Antipodean acts that I already knew. Most of them were frustrated by a lot of the American comics they had met, both in the uniformity of their material and the depth of their ambition and their surly attitude to other acts. But I had been through all this in the 90s and just wanted to enjoy myself with my friends. You know, unless someone decides to offer me the part of Kooky English Butler in some new sit-com, then I will be sucking cock along with the worst of them.
Just a couple more nights remaining now. I am appearing in a show called "Best of the Fest" on Thursday and Friday. Though this is something of a misnomer. It should really be called, "Best of the Fest who aren't doing their own one man shows or appearing on the swanky televised Gala" or maybe just "Comedians who are in town but not working anywhere else at the moment". It's back at the Comedy Works where I gigged on Sunday and I am guessing my time slot will be back to seven to ten minutes, rather than the luxurious 12 I have been enjoying at Brit com. So please do think of me working for almost a sixth of an hour per day in Canada, whilst you graft away in whatever employ fills up your humdrum life. I am better than you. And don't forget it.
