The fair town of Kings Lynn played host to my particular brand of talent last night, and what a brilliant / crap night it was.
I don't often harp on about gigs, for the simple reason that I can't believe anyone reading this would give a shit. None of you write stuff about your jobs do you?
On this occasion, though, I find myself wanting to simultaneously scream and applaud. King's Lynn Corn Exchange is a huge gig. The room is enormous and holds well over 400 punters, sat informally at tables around the stage.
There were big signs as you walk in declaring that "Nonsense Heckling will not be tolerated". I asked the manager about the choice of phrase. He assured me that there was bound to be heckling, and that his staff would be keeping a close eye on it. I was sceptical to say the least. The audience demographic mainly consisted of late 20 somethings to mid 40 somethings. It didn't appear chavvy. Quite the opposite actually.
I'd been on stage for approximately 9 seconds when the first heckle arrived. Some bloke at the side laughed really loudly, one of those big false sarcastic laughs, just as I was introducing myself. I hadn't got as far as even attempting to be funny, so the sarcastic laughter was about as welcome as Dolores Umbridge.
Now, I try and be fluffy and nice and childish and all those kind of things, but there are times when I need to be a little harder with the crowd. However, as this was just the first moment I decided upon a nicer approach to dealing with it, by suggesting that the gentleman in question was obviously watching me on sky plus, and had got to the first punchline before everyone else. Cue my first laugh. I then banged straight on with my opening routine about stealing pigeons. Much laughter ensued and the gig settled down to what I though was going to be a really, really excellent show.
Not two minutes later the same bloke shouted something out. I didn't really hear what he said, but there was no mistaking the derisive nature of the heckle. The audience booed him back, which is a bit like spinach for my inner Popeye. The guy continued to heckle and each time he did I capped it with something better. Ten minutes later I decided that this man had every intention of fucking the whole show up, and that the time for affirmative action was nigh.
I verbally buried him in a barrage of insults and put downs, spurred on by the wild applause emanating from the ordinary folk of Norfolk. I humiliated this man beyond any level of ridicule that I have ever imposed on anyone in my career, ever. I destroyed his credibility, challenged his intellect and gave him the biggest verbal kick-in I could possibly muster. By the end of the first rant the audience were actually stood up applauding me. Job done.
I settled the crowd and introduced the first act, whose 20 minutes passed without being heckled. He made a comment as he walked on stage which pissed me right off though.
"I thought you were never going to get me on".
When he came off stage I felt the need to point out that I only actually did 15 minutes at the top.
"That's too long" he said.
"Really? I was under the impression that my job was to be as funny as is humanly possible, warm the crowd up and set it up so you have a great gig. Time is irrelevant. I bring you on when I think they're ready. I did my bit, you had a great gig. Which part did I get wrong?"
He looked around the room for some support from the other acts, but it was obvious they both entirely agreed with my analysis of my job. I fucking hate acts that think they are more important than anyone else, and that the compere's job is to just bring them on when it suits them. There's a reason I compere at 90% of my gigs – I'm fucking good at it.
The second part of the show went much the same way as the first, with me having loads of fun with the audience, interrupted occasionally by the heckling twat who clearly hadn't learnt his lesson. It had started to get a bit tasty by this point, his heckles becoming more unreasonable and malicious, and my retorts were probably beginning to sound strained and annoyed, which is a definite no no.
I settled everyone down again and introduced act two. As I left the stage towards the dressing room I heard the words "here y'are mate" and the a coin was thrown at me.
Oh
My
God.
How disrespectful is that? Not to mention fucking dangerous. The manager was called and I had a proper kick off. Not in a "I'm a Diva and therefore will not be going back on stage" way, because it's not the audiences fault that the bloke s a complete prick, so why should they get less out of the gig? I did insist that the bloke was removed from the building though. The Manager promised to eject him immediately and then came back ten minutes later looking sheepish.
"I've had a word and he promises not to do it again".
"Kick him out"
"I can't. Our security staff didn't turn up."
I was absolutely livid. How can you run a gig in a theatre that holds over 400 people and have no security staff? Is that even legal? I imagine they probably have to provide security for insurance reasons, not to mention any measures imposed by the local council.
Like I said, I'm not a Diva so I wasn't about to storm out, but I let my feelings known. The other acts seemed to think I should refuse to go back on stage, get my money and fuck off. I went back on despite the twat still being in the room, ripped it up for five minutes to a tumultuous applause that makes this job so worth while, and the left with the headliner in full flow, my compromise being that he'd close out the show so I could leave early.
The show as a whole was wonderful, spoilt by attention seeking pricks.
King's Lynn, I shall never darken your inbred fucktard town again.
On a upward note I'd like to end my blog today by wishing my parents a very happy 30th wedding anniversary. The Doc and I shall be trundling down to Worthing for a mega Partaaaay this evening.
Of course, I'll be watching the Villa/Liverpool match first though. AND I just got my tickets through for England Vs Germany on august 22nd, which is going to be soooooo cool.
Ta ta wenches.