Stand Up and Deliver

W Kind Andy D

Description

Highly entertaining account of a young man's first year as a rookie comedian. His comedy is focused on the world rather than the church, and he gigs regularly around the country ' average three times a week. He has a considerable following through the churches but also does a great deal of work through the mainstream comedy circuit. He has performed regularly at all the main Christian events. "The book represents my first year in the world of comedy. The book will chart the reality of life on the comedy circuit ' and how those ups and downs affect my faith, my relationships, my goals etc. It is also about a 25 year old slightly at odds with his environment. The gigs are a stepping stone for observations on life in general. I want to provide good quality humour that faces outwards and talks about life in general, rather than looking inwards and seeing the funny side of church."

Informations

• Publié par: Lion Hudson
• Date de parution: 02 juin 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780857211125
• Langue: English

Extrait

STAND UP AND DELIVER
A nervous rookie on the comedy circuit
Andy Kind

Oxford, UK & Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA
Copyright 2011 by Andy Kind
The right of Andy Kind to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
First published in the UK in 2011 by Monarch Books (a publishing imprint of Lion Hudson plc) and by Elevation (a publishing imprint of the Memralife Group): Lion Hudson plc, Wilkinson House, Jordan Hill Road, Oxford OX2 8DR Tel: [phone]; Fax [phone]; email [e-mail] ; www.lionhudson.com Memralife Group, 14 Horsted Square, Uckfield, East Sussex TN22 1QG Tel: [phone]; Fax [phone]; www.elevationmusic.com
ISBN 978 0 85721 025 8 (print) ISBN 978 0 85721 112 5 (ePub) ISBN 978 0 85721 111 8 (Kindle) ISBN 978 0 85721 113 2 (PDF)
Distributed by: UK: Marston Book Services, PO Box 269, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4YN
Unless otherwise stated, Scripture quotations taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version, copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by the International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan and Hodder & Stoughton Limited. All rights reserved. The NIV and New International Version trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society. UK trademark number 1448790.
British Library Cataloguing Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Cover image: Ian Fox/Andy Kind.
This book is dedicated to Doreen Rowley,
from her eldest grandson.
X
If I must boast, I would rather boast about the things that show how weak I am.
2 Corinthians 11:30 (New Living Translation)
Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

September

October

November

December

January

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

Thanks, acknowledgments and a historical note
September

Dear Lord

My first gig came out of the blue.

I was driving to play football with a friend of mine when my mobile rang and flashed up Unknown Caller .
I don t know about you, but I always get a little bit frightened by that. You ll learn as we go along that I have an overactive imagination, so when I see Unknown Caller , I just picture a man in a cloak with bony fingers and no face. I have this horrible fear that I ll answer the phone to the grim reaper, he ll simply say It s time , and I ll slump, lifeless, back into my chair.

This whole series of thoughts was making me very tense, and so I answered the phone like someone opening the front door of a long-abandoned Victorian house.
H-h-hello?
Hi, it s Jane from Mirth Control Comedy. Are you free to do a gig in Bath tonight?
Realizing I d managed to stave off Death for another day, I breathed a sigh of relief - until I understood what was actually happening.
I was being offered a chance to do stand-up comedy!

I d never done it before, and had only just registered on the agency s site as a newbie act looking for gigs. But here I was, being invited to travel down south and actually perform.
The reality of the situation - living in Stoke-on-Trent and on my way to play football - meant I would have to set off straight away, wearing nothing but a football strip and thus leaving my friend Jonny to walk the final two miles to the match. I had no choice
Yes, I m free, I replied, hoping that Jonny would feel an extended pre-match warm-up might do him some good.
Great, it s the Cellar Bar in the centre of town. Show starts at 8.30, get there for 8.00 - you ll be on in the middle. Bye
The line went dead.
Jonny, there s good news and there s bad news, I said.
Jonny is still in my top friends on Facebook and I m godfather to his son, so I won t tell you what he said - but Gordon Ramsey, had he been there, might well have asked him to tone it down a bit.

Score a goal for me! I shouted back to Jonny as I drove off, leaving him stranded. The hand gesture he gave me in return suggested that he would try to score two.

As I hit the M6 south at Junction 15 and the road to Bath stretched out in front of me, I remember thinking something quite profound that has stuck with me ever since:
This is the worst idea anyone has ever had!

But I was on my way. I was finally pursuing my lifelong dream and, though I didn t know it at the time, a new career was about to start. I stopped at Stafford services to buy a pack of mini pork-pies and ring my Mum, to tell her the news. My Mum has an acute gift for the profound, fully equal to my own, and when I told her about this momentous occasion, she replied, Oh, if I d known in advance I could have done you a packed lunch!
Rock and roll.

The moment I passed the Cellar Bar in Bath, my legs turned comprehensively to jelly. As I exited my car, shaking with fear, I must have looked like some hideous ventriloquist s dummy that had sprung to life and turned on his master.

I d spent most of the journey trying to remember some of the jokes I d written over the previous few weeks, after I d had the initial crazy idea to hit the boards . On the phone, Jane had asked me to do five minutes, but I d never timed myself and so had no idea whether I had too much or not enough material. More than that, I had no idea whether anything I d written was in any way funny. In a moment of grotesque clarity, I longed for the Reaperman to call for a catch-up - or at least send a text, if he was trying to keep billing costs down.

Walking into the Porter Cellar Bar and down the flight of steps to the comedy club, I shuffled past the healthy line of punters waiting to pay to get in. A woman with a cash box accosted me. Can I help? she asked.
In reply, I asserted something that, over 600 gigs later, still feels a bit odd and a bit beautiful:
I m one of the comedians.
I felt like a complete fraud saying it, reminiscent of that scene in The Great Escape where Richard Attenborough bluffs his way onto the bus past the Nazi officer by pretending to be French. I was half expecting to be shown through, and the woman would say Good luck , I d say Thank you , we d both display looks of dawning realization and panic, after which I d be chased through the streets of Bath and eventually shot as I tried to cross some train tracks.
Bizarrely, she bought my story, affirmed they were expecting me and showed me through into the bar.

The show started and I sat through the comp re and opening act, thinking how good they were, how confident they looked and how loose my rectal muscles felt. That is one of the drawbacks with comedy: the terror. No matter how good you get, nor how many gigs you perform at, from the moment you arrive at a venue until you go on, you constantly need the toilet (or at least I do). I was experiencing this now for the first time, and I couldn t honestly say at that moment what was scaring me more: the thought of the crowd not laughing, or the thought of the crowd laughing a lot as I went on and, instead of telling jokes, just stood there transfixed by the light and retaining zero control over my bowels.

Before I knew it, the show had rocketed into its first break of the evening, which meant one thing: I was next.
I went into the Green Room where all the other acts were dissecting the first section of the show. Ninia Benjamin had opened the proceedings and had gone down a storm. She was scrutinizing a piece of paper, using a biro to tick off certain words - presumably symbolizing bits of new material she had road-tested. Also present were a double-act called Electric Forecast (or Big Cook, Little Cook if you are of the CBeebies persuasion). Unaware that this was my first gig, they were asking me questions like, Who s your agent? and You got any TV projects on the go?
Well, not really. I m trying to work my way through every episode of Friends in a week, but apart from that
I tried to chat politely, but amidst all the happy banter, rib-tickling and general joviality, I had never felt more lonely or quite as stranded.
Everyone else in the club seemed completely at ease with their role for the evening. The barman knew how to pour pints; the audience knew how to sit down and watch what was in front of them; the other comedians knew how to say something funny and wait for a roar of laughter to come rolling back. It had all happened before and would all happen again. But not for me. I was a virgin, a newbie, a rookie: an island of panic in a sea of certainty and self-assurance.

The fifteen-minute break ended. The crowd excitedly retook their seats, a strong scent of beer and wine now filling the underground space. The venue, being subterranean, had a dank clamminess to it that emanated from the walls and tickled my throat. It reminded me of visiting Smuggler s Cove in Newquay as a child.
I wish I was there now.

The other acts went out front to watch the show, while the comp re, Sally-Anne Hayward, waited for the soundman to play the A-Team theme so she could retake the stage.
I ll just do about five at the top, then bring you straight on. Is that cool?
Sure.
Have a good un! She winked at me, I heard the sound of machine-gun fire as the theme tune kicked in and she was back on stage, leaving me alone in the Green Room.
Apparently, if you have a problem and no one else can help, you can hire the A-Team.
Well, yes, I have a problem - I m about to humiliate myself in front of 100 people. Where s Hannibal now?!
Please, B.A., for all the times I watched you do it as a boy, please drive a van through this wa