The plans you make at 4.00am, after a shandy or two, are not always the most advisable. They are however, bold and undaunted, sincere and effervescent, utterly preposterous and potentially dangerous.
It may not shock you then, that my decision to finally give stand-up comedy a try came under these exact circumstances. (Okay, the ‘shandy’ maybe a slight fib as it did not contain all that much lemonade. Or any. Or any lager. Just gin. There was lots of gin.)
On this occasion, I was stumbling around in cyber space, (virtual shoes in hand, literal dollop of mayo in fringe) and I happened upon the Funny Women website. FUNNY WOMEN AWARDS NOW OPEN. Huh? The what? I started having a nosy little click around. I found the list of previous finalists which pretty much covered all the female comics I’d seen and loved since I started watching live comedy and the wonderful Bridget Christie who is one of my all-time favourite acts. I was curious. I wanted in.
Undeterred by the amazingly high standard of the finalists, (I didn’t think for one second the final would have anything to do with me) and encouraged by the lovely words of support for beginners I hovered over the ‘Apply’ button.
Comedy has been my favourite thing since my dad insisted on putting Fawlty Towers on at Christmas instead of Aladdin. It was the Gourmet Night episode that I had to suffer through and I decided I would endure this cruelty with my arms folded, thin lipped and holding a glare that could’ve killed Jafar. I lasted about four minutes. “This Basil. This Basil’s Wife. This smack on head.” was undoubtedly the funniest thing I had ever seen. Against all my will I was rolling around, helpless with giggles. It hurt. It was brilliant.
And in that pivotal moment something changed in me forever. A passion was ignited. I knew what I wanted to do with my one existence… Alright. That might be slightly romanticised. I’ve had a shandy. BUT my mum did laugh so hard she farted and moments like that shape a kid.
Comedy, in all its forms, did genuinely become one of my favourite things and I had toyed for years with the idea of giving it a try but had never found the courage or the right outlet to do so. I was well aware that even the greatest comedians on the planet have bad gigs but I was concerned if my first try was horrible that would instantly put me off for life. However, this Funny Women thing I was staring at seemed somehow kinder than a random open mic night in the room of a pub. And it was.
I’ve been asked if the fact the competition was just for women made a difference to me. It’s a tricky one to answer because though I can honestly say that I pay no attention to the ridiculous, and quite tiresome, stance that women aren’t as funny as blah blah blah, I actually did feel far more comfortable taking this female only route. I would say the reason for this was the overarching ethos of supporting and empowering women. It made me feel that, whatever the outcome of the evening, my bravery (Yeah. Bravery… alright, not like a bull fighter but still, I’m sticking with it…) would be acknowledged and celebrated and just the act of doing something that terrifies you is an achievement worth being proud of.
I clicked ‘apply.’ I woke up to a hangover, a date and a venue.
The entire week before the big night I didn’t think about, or dream about anything else. I imagine my anxiety was made worse by not telling anyone I was going to do it. (Except Bob at work who was rightly suspicious about me wanting the keys to the conference suite at midnight… to talk to myself.) That way, if it was truly awful, nobody would need to know. It would be my secret comedy affair.
I picked out a nice dress so I would feel confident and told my housemate I was going on a date. I stopped in a pub on the way and stood in a toilet cubicle looking at bullet points I had made and after each one, considered turning back.
I got to the venue. I felt sick. I saw the stage. I felt really sick. I saw all the chairs that would be occupied by actual people and not the imaginary naked ones from Bob’s conference room. A bit came up.
I met Lynne and the other acts and told them it would be my first time and absolutely everyone was immediately supportive. They gave me advice, told me about their first time and metaphorically and quite literally, held my shaking hand. (Hello, Katie Tracey!) This confirmed what I had read about their ethos before applying. It certainly wasn’t just a comedy competition with every woman for themselves; it was a really positive supportive environment.
Regardless of all the warmth, I still felt like I wanted to turn back or at least don an adult nappy. So when my time came and my name was called, I didn’t remove my coat and reveal the dress I’d painstakingly picked out. I kept my mother’s waterproof anorak on. Zipped to the chin as some sort of protection from the audience and also in case I wanted to make a speedy exit.
I’d like to tell you how it felt performing but I can’t remember a thing. It was pure adrenaline. All I know is that all the fear melted after the first laugh and I was in a heart thumping haze of joy. I felt buzzy and proud and shocked and euphoric and still kind of sick for hours and hours. I’m quite sure that I have never and will never recover. Again! Again!
After that, I left the country for a month. It was planned. It didn’t go that badly. And while I was away I was thrilled to find out that I was through to the semi-finals. This meant when I came back I only had the chance to try it again twice more at local comedy nights. These experiences were equally terrifying and brilliantly buzzy as the first.
Through, I assume, some bribery or threats from my parents I managed to win my semi-final and within a few gigs and a fewer months I had the honour of performing in the Funny Women Final to a sold out Leicester Square Theatre.
I got to the venue. I felt sick. I saw the stage. I felt really sick. I performed. And it was absolutely unbelievable. It was undoubtedly one of the best experiences I’ve had in my life (and I’ve wee’d on a volcano.)
If there is any niggling part of your grey matter that thinks you’d like to have a go I urge you to do it, whether you aspire to being a stand up or you just fancy having more confidence, making new (HILARIOUS) friends or feeling ecstatic without the use of drugs.
It.is.glorious. And that’s not just the shandy talking.
Amy Gledhill was a finalist in the 2012 Funny Women Awards. Follow Amy on Twitter HERE.
