Lost, then

'Lost, then' is the opening slide/image to my solo show, but that shouldn't give away too much of the plot if you're planning on seeing it. You'll probably know from the title it's about getting lost, obviously there's a fair bit more to it than that, but - almost as if I'm being faithful to the title, I've had real issues finding all three of the venues I've performed at so far. The run of shows has been staggered, as it will be for the rest of the year, to fit around other commitments, but by early November I would have performed it 46 times which isn't a bad run, as much as part of me still thinks it's not enough. There's still talks with other venues too, mostly for October, but by then my head will very much be wrapped up in all things Christmas show. The first few 'proper' performances have taken place over the last week and, as always, I've come away with a lot to think about.

The final preview/lounge show around Izzy's was a cracker - it was a relief if anything that it came together so well. And don't get me wrong; everybody that has seen the show so far seems to have enjoyed it (unless they were pretending) but it's fair to say I'm hardly storming it.

I walked on stage in Leeds last night - nice big performance space, and it suddenly occurred to me: shit, I'm a stand-up comedian. How did this happen? This wasn't really the plan. This is theatre. Theatre which has, thanks to the whole going solo thing (cost effective/it's better to fall out with myself rather than drag other people into my artistic tantrums) merged into storytelling comedy, which in return has been billed in quite a lot of places as just 'comedy', which suddenly makes people think I'm a stand-up. It's a simple chain, I understand how this has happened, but suddenly the expectations have changed a bit, and so has my performance. Last night I was even pacing around the stage like stand-up comedians do. I never used to do that. There's jokes in this show, of course there is, but it's all to build the story. Either way, it has taken me a few days to realise what has happened.

The signs were there a couple days before when I checked in to my hotel just before the Liverpool performance.

Receptionist: So, are you here on business?
Me: Kind of.
Receptionist: Golf?
Me: No. I'm a performer.
Receptionist: Performer? What sort of performer?
Me: It's a comedy...play thing.
Receptionist: Where's the rest of your cast?
Me: It's a solo show.
Receptionist: So you're a comedian?
Me: Definitely not.
Receptionist: So you're an actor then?
Me: I don't think so. I'm just...anyway, what time is breakfast?

The opening performance in Halesworth felt particularly strange. They're such a lovely bunch there, and I always (well, both times I've been there) get treated so well by both the audience and staff. The food is lovely, the vibe is friendly, but when I didn't get the first laugh, where I thought it should be, I panicked slightly. How arrogant am I to assume that they, or anybody, will find anything I say funny? Let alone one specific ice breaker. I had them on side shortly after, but by then I was in garbling mode, rushing through the show like some nervous, panicky amateur. I left the stage furious with myself, all of this work I'd put into my performance to produce an energetic but equally coherent and confident show lost in an instant. It's the first show, these things happen, but the 2 hour drive home felt horrible.

Having spent 5 hours getting to Liverpool the next day I was fired up by the traffic issues and frustrations finding the venue; I was annoyed enough to give a pleasantly shouty performance yet tired enough to do it as a pace people would understand. When I got to the venue the audience was so small (2) I got offered money by the venue not to do the show, but I did it anyway. Better performance that time but difficult, you know, to get a vibe going in that kind of environment. Back in my hotel by 9pm that night; a Friday night spent in a single room in Southport with a Ginsters slice, a can of Carling and a television with a bad reception, I already started to realise that touring solo is a test of character.

Leeds last night felt better; big room and relatively small turnout but it was progress, performance edgy but not as edgy as it has been, gradually it's coming together. It's weird; when I've driven home after a great gig with the band I usually can't sleep for hours, the adrenaline is still buzzing around my body. After doing one of these shows I get home and I'm exhausted and ready for bed; clearly being on stage for somewhere between 50-70 minutes, completely alone, is a good workout, mentally.

Anyway, 3 down, 43 to go.