Your Monday mote

Working on my 'tight five'

No, I haven’t undergone surgery.

I’m writing a new stand-up set for a cabaret show I’m booked to perform at, that’s now less than three weeks away.

Five minutes is a long time in comedy, so it may not seem like much to you but it is EVERYTHING to me.

I need a ‘tight five’ and I need it now.

This will be my second stand-up performance in 17 short years, and so I’ve started pacing around the house holding a wooden spoon, spewing zingers at the cat.

I still have my set from last year to refer to. It was a ‘loose ten’, so my plan is to update the material, edit it down, punch it up, slap it around a bit, give it a sideways look, trample all over it and then shove it through a mincer, until it becomes the perfect comedy sausage. "(“Are you sure about that?” - Ed).

How do you write a stand-up set?

Well, you lean in to who you are. This isn’t fiction and it isn’t character comedy. This is about me, my life and world view.

Menopausal rage can only take you so far so there has to be some refinement and a clever stitching of opinions and scenarios. I’ll be leaning into my age, as why would I not?

Throwing off the invisibility cape worn by most women in their sixth decade is one of the reasons I’m doing this. I say worn, it’s more thrust upon you by society. Be gone, ye salty hag and take your shrivelled ovaries with ye!

I’ll probably start with something topical but I’ll write on the day. Maybe ‘local’ topical? Not sure yet, I’ll see what material I have to work with at the time.

The nerves probably won’t arrive until the day itself. I’m more worried now about what to wear. Last year, it was an all black ensemble but this time I want an outfit that ‘pops’, as the backdrop to the stage is black.

What’s the worst that can happen?

Not much. I once performed to one man and a dog (literally, he had his dog with him), at a pub on a rainy Monday night, in Hackney, was heckled by a gang of hammered rugby fans during a 1am gig, at the Edinburgh Fringe, and was asked by an elderly gent, after one gig at a working man’s club in Gravesend, why comedians don’t tell jokes anymore?

Those were the disasters but I also got good reviews at the Fringe, was placed in a prestigious comedy comp, performed at The Comedy Store and supported a big name comic at an established London venue; I had no idea how big it was until I showed up and then I freaked out. Did okay though.

So a lot to think about. But not too deeply, and not just yet.

The comedy is marinating. It’s sous vide (whoever she is).

Now, where did I leave that wooden spoon?

Lisa

Photo: Yours truly, back in the day. Probably around 2005, at a pub in Soho.