I booked onto it a couple of weeks ago as I need to get back into ‘performing’ if I want to do some more stand-up this year, and thought this would be a great way to throw off the inhibitions and get a sense of what it’s like to stand up in front of people again.

There were 18 of us on the workshop, and the set-up was very simple – a large wooden-floored room with 18 chairs, and 18 willing participants of various ages; mostly male, and not all of whom were new to improv. There was a sprinkling of comedians (the correct collective noun, I think you’ll find) as well as a couple of people who you could definitely describe as ‘theatre types’, more of whom later.

The day was spent playing various ‘games’, some of which were physical, and some of which – mostly later in the day – were more verbally challenging. Some of the games were played standing in a circle, some were played in smaller groups, in some we were partnered up in twos, and some involved standing in front of the others and performing, mostly as a small group, but also individually.

One of the main lessons of the day was not to think ahead. Anything we did, whether it was making up a story, saying random words to each other, making up a group poem or talking gibberish (literally) was to come from ‘the moment’; anything that was pre-planned, even by a few seconds, was off-limits. The idea was to let the spontaneous nature of our brains explore the possibilities without filtering out stuff. Doing this when you are worried about making a fool of yourself is impossible, so that particular concern also had to be banished from our minds.

Now, I have to make an admission here: I’m not a particular fan of improv as a form of comedy. To me, it has always been a poor relation of other forms of comedy in terms of the extent to which it can make me laugh. Some modern sitcoms that have improvised dialogue are superb; ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’ and ‘The Thick of It’ are two fine examples – but they have a defined structure on which the improv is hung. Improv in itself is, for me as an observer, a bit too hit and miss.

I knew I would enjoy taking part, though, because the MAC stand-up course included some similar inhibition-shedding games which I loved. The big question for me, though, was whether improv in itself would provide a new creative outlet, or just a bit of fun for a day.

On the MAC stand-up course, the improv games were used as a warm-up, and that’s kind of how I felt about the day; that, although enjoyable, it wasn’t creatively satisfying in itself. I could quite easily have left at lunchtime and felt that I’d done enough gibberish-talking and running about.

Improv is almost the total opposite to stand-up in terms of the way it is created. With improv, you empty your mind of ideas and do what comes naturally in the moment. With stand-up, you write material, hone it, practice it, perform it, practice and hone it some more, perform it again, and so on. Writing is as much of the process as delivering it. And that’s most likely the reason why improv doesn’t ‘do it’ for me.

That said, the course was terrific fun, and the day flew by. I think that 18 people was a little high for a beginners’ course; one activity called for individuals to stand up in front of the group and make up a 2-3 minute story from two suggested objects – quite intimidating for a newbie. Those theatre types I mentioned earlier were clearly closer to the centre of their comfort zones than the rest of us; there is an undefinable quality they have that just oozes the ‘theatrical’. It’s something to do with projecting the voice, I think, but along-side is a quality that’s simply indescribable. It could be a lack of inhibition.

I would also have preferred a smaller group because it’s easier to get to know each other, which I feel is important on a course like this. There was no ‘introductions’ activity, nor any name badges (which were mentioned as a possibility, but only as an aid for the facilitator!)

The facilitator clearly knew his stuff, and the course was well-organised. He gave honest feedback after the activities, which was occasionally rather brutal in that he didn’t hold back with criticism when the improv ‘ethos’ was breached. He was good-natured and supportive, however, and clearly loves what he does.

So, on my quest – started at the beginning of 2011 – to discover whether I am more of a writer or a performer, I have an answer. Writing – or more generally preparation – is more important to me than performance alone. However, that doesn’t necessarily provide a final answer. Because I know from previous experience that writing alone is not enough either. The process can be arduous, and very often you don’t have full control over the finished product, which is something I need for it to be creatively fulfilling.

So probably the best description I could give myself is a ‘writer/performer’. And I’m happy with that; it means I have a lot of options, although it also means I end up being jack of all trades and… well, you know the rest. I certainly do have difficulty focusing on one area, which slows down the rate at which I can improve because I’m always learning new stuff to a limited degree rather than attaining full mastery. I’m having fun in the process, but it’s never going to make me a millionaire.

If you have the chance to go on an improv workshop, my advice would be to go. Even if you have no ambition to perform, you will enjoy reverting to behaving like a child in the playground; running about, shouting, pretending to be someone or something else, and having a good laugh at yourself and others. And doing something quite out of the ordinary like that for pleasure alone is very liberating, both for mind and body.

The workshop was run by ‘Box of Frogs’ – their group meets every Tuesday at St Columba church hall in Moseley and they give regular performances at The Lamp Tavern in Digbeth, Birmingham. You can watch videos and find out more at: http://wp.me/1modV

This means I have to have a number of creative projects ‘on the go’ at any time. And the beginning of the year is a useful time to set new ones.

My goals for 2012 are particularly exciting, as they build on a load of stuff I learned in 2011, and so, almost for the first time, I am noticing a real shift in my ability to create decent content. So here’s what I’ll be doing this year:

My 3 creative goals for 2012 sit neatly in 3 categories:

1) Take ‘The Comedy Fix’ to 3000 regular downloads.

This is a big challenge. Podcasting is a different game from 2007, which is when I was last seriously churning out regular audio podcasts on the Internet. Video is now king, and the market is now so fragmented that it’s almost impossible to get noticed beyond an immediate social circle of online friends and acquaintances. This means that as well as creating a quality show, which will be a collaborative effort with Jonny, Simon and Amy, we will need to shout loud to be noticed; through viral videos, clever use of social networks and whatever else we can do to get people to listen to us. Although we’re starting from scratch, we have the Bear Crawling Network to help us, and the goodwill of those who enjoyed Clever Little Pod and the Rhubarb Radio shows. If we’re at 3000 by the end of the year, I’ll be very happy.

2) Create and distribute an ebook.

I’ve been wanting to do this for ages. NaNoWriMo was a fantastic opportunity to find out whether I could make the jump from writing scripts to narrative prose, as well as find out about my own writing process. I wasn’t convinced that my writing style wasn’t ‘clunky’ and overly verbose, but I’ve now received some feedback from a friend whose writing skills I admire, and whose opinion I trust, and it has spurred me on to take my writing seriously. So, having taken part in an online tutorial of ‘Vook’, a cloud-based e-publishing tool, I’m busy thinking of ideas to turn into e-books. Finishing the NaNoWriMo project is a possibility, but there are other comedy ideas I’d like to develop too. And with video, audio, graphics and unique stylesheets that can be built into e-books for publication on Amazon and a host of other websites, there is no limit to the possibilities.

3) Perform more live comedy.

This the vaguest goal, simply because that’s all I know about what I want to do. Performing stand-up last year changed the game for me on a whole load of fronts, but most importantly it gave me a real sense of being able to achieve anything. I don’t think I’m really cut out to be a stand-up comedian. That’s not because I don’t think I’m capable – it’s more that I don’t have the motivation. There’s a real buzz that comes from performing stand-up, but there’s a lot of fear and anxiety too, most of which comes from being exposed on-stage. So why is the goal still here in my 2012 list? I wanted to find out in 2011 whether I’m a writer or a performer. Hasn’t that question been answered? Well, not quite. Because I’ve realised that while I’m definitely more of a writer by nature, I can’t be a writer alone. It’s not enough for me – I have to have a part in making the writing ‘live’ – whether that’s by recording and editing a podcast, or delivering the lines on stage. And so, despite the fear, there is still a ‘pull’ to that spotlight and that very lonely mike-stand. What’s different this time is that the material needs to be right for me. That could be as a character comedian, as part of a double act, or maybe even in comedy improv. The only way to find out, is to try them all. So which one am I trying next? Watch this space – I’m likely to be very much removed from my ‘comfort zone’ next weekend…

And so those are my goals for 2012. They sit very comfortably alongside more long-term goals, as well as contributing to them. Goal 1 will hopefully help me gain notoriety as a comedy writer/producer. Goal 2 will also showcase my skills in humorous writing, and may eventually lead to a secondary income. Goal 3 will continue to provide new skills that will help me put on a live comedy show for a paying audience.

I turn 40 this year. It’s something you can’t avoid thinking about as it approaches, and it can provoke negative thoughts of missed opportunities and failed objectives. But more than at any time in my life, I feel ready to shake off the insecurities and lack of self-belief that have held me back up to now, and make the most of the abilities I have to achieve some really satisfying results.

And if I make a few people laugh along the way, then that’s even better.

Bring it on!

When I look back at a year, I’m usually quite critical because there are more unachieved goals than ones to tick off. This year is different.

Undoubtedly the big achievement of the year was to complete the stand-up comedy course at the MAC, and then go on to do some gigs. As well as providing the opportunity to perform, and so banishing a phobic-like fear of performing live, it has vastly improved my ability to write proper ‘jokes’, rather than relying on character-driven lines. I also met some great people on the course who share a love of comedy, and have some very exciting creative projects in the pipeline for 2012 as a result.

Jonny and Simon, with whom I’m working on ‘The Comedy Fix’, have both been inspirational to me. Jonny has continued to pursue his goal of making stand-up comedy his career, with many successful gigs and a tenacity that puts the rest of us to shame. Simon has produced some fine material that is intelligently crafted and innovative in subject and approach. They are both fine people to work with, and I trust and respect their feedback and views.

Trying to work out my ‘next steps’ for 2012 is exciting and frustrating in equal measure. I have only dipped my toe in the world of stand-up, but have done enough to realise the huge commitment that’s needed to progress in any meaningful way. My instinct is to want to do more, because it had such a positive effect on me personally – particularly in terms of self-confidence – but I wonder if the performing aspect of my output might be better served in other ways, such as in sketches, improv, or even part of a double-act. The material I wrote for the stand-up gigs didn’t quite ‘fit’ with the ‘performance persona’ that I wanted to project – I suspect because I am not as comfortable being funny as myself, rather than the silly voices and characters I create on the podcasts. Maybe character comedy is the way to go. It’s all possible in 2012.

‘The Comedy Fix’ on Rhubarb Radio was an enjoyable experience, although there were numerous frustrations along the way. Problems in nailing the show to the level of professionalism that the three of us wanted meant that we were often left wondering whether we had created something unmissable or unlistenable. I often blamed the equipment for this, but I suspect that I often wasn’t on best form in the 10 til midnight slot, despite a huge amount of preparation. In the end, Rhubarb experienced a very sad end, although I have to say that we’d pretty much decided to go before events took over and the station ceased broadcasting. A few loyal members remain, and I sincerely hope they succeed in reviving the station to its former glory.

Part of the reason I didn’t do more stand-up after August was because I started a new job. Although both the new job and the stand-up were challenging in positive ways, doing both at the same time was too much to cope with, and I felt that there was a risk of not applying myself to the job as much as was needed. I am still finding my feet in the job to a small extent, but I’m now in a good position from where I can start to focus more on spare time activities.

The other big creative challenge of 2011 was ‘Nanowrimo’ – the worldwide phenomenon of writing a novel in 30 days in November. It proved too big a challenge, and the required 1666 words per night was never close to being achieved. I crashed out spectacularly after just two weeks, with a woefully under-par 8300 words written. (50,000 was the target).

Despite the lack of a successful outcome, it was a useful exercise in that I learned much about my own writing process. I was averaging around 800 words a day until I hit a brick wall, which came about due to a lack of planning. I basically ran out of plot, realising that in my head I had summarised the middle 30,000 words of my novel in a sentence. Which is quite difficult to overcome when you are already crashing through deadlines.

Also, I hadn’t realised how competitive it could seem – the community aspect is supposed to be very supportive and inspirational, with a kind of ‘we’re all in this together’ feel to it. That does get slightly lost, however, when you’re struggling to write 500 words a day and others are posting updates like ‘Phew! Just reached 45000!’ after only a day and a half. On day 1, I was maintaining my generosity, saying ‘well done you!’ to my laptop screen; by day 14 I was muttering ‘smug bastards’ under my breath and secretly hating them all for writing more than me. Whether that makes me a terrible person or just human is not for me to say.

There have been other highlights of the year, but it’s 2am now, and I need to sleep. Part 2 soon.

NaNoWriMo is NaNoWriNoMore, as my word count has slipped behind to an unrecoverable level.

Last weekend, it was looking tough, but after being out until late on Monday, Tuesday and Thursday of last week, and then a weekend where writing really took a back-seat, the chance of me reaching 50,000 by the end of the month is non-existent.

I’m still going to try for as many words as possible by November 30th. But I’ve unsubscribed from the Facebook groups where fellow Nano-ers are bragging of their 22,000 words. It’s too de-motivating when you are sitting there with just over 8000.

That’s the main problem with this competition. I’ve read articles where it’s said that there’s no competitive element, and that no matter whether you ‘win’ or not (i.e. write 50000 words by Nov 30th), it doesn’t matter because you have written something!

Whether that’s true or not, by definition, if you are not a ‘winner’ on November 30th, then you are a ‘loser’, and no amount of wishy-washy appeasement will convince me otherwise. As soon as you realise that, then the motivation subsides, and no amount of pep talks can help.

But then, I’m forgetting the aim of the event, which is to write 50,000 words. Not to write 50,000 good words. Not to write a novel that’s exciting, engaging and worthy. Just to write 50,000 words of fiction which, if it’s shite, still wins the game.

Which is where I fall down. Because I can’t write 2000 words – shite or otherwise – every day. I can do it for one day, maybe. Probably even two in a row. But the need to edit and review as I write is too strong for me to let that go. I don’t want a shite novel at the end of a month of slogging away at a keyboard, which is what I would produce if I wrote to target. I want a novel that I can be proud of as soon as it’s finished, and that I can spend time moulding into a great novel without having to address huge shortfalls in quality.

So, good luck to everyone who’s still ‘in’. And kudos to those who are managing the target after a full day at work. You are obviously destined for Barbara Cartland levels of success.

I’ll plod on, writing my average 800 words a day, with a revised aim of finishing by Christmas. NaNo has taught me a lot, and there’s no denying it’s a useful tool to get people writing. But 50,000 words in a month? Not this year.

Anyway – I’m 7 days into ‘NaNoWriMo’, the world-wide challenge of writing a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. So how’s it going?

Well, in terms of word-count – not great. At this stage in the month, I should have smashed through the 10,000 word barrier and be well on my way to 20,000. Instead, I’m on a paltry 6600. Not bad I suppose, but I’m just not producing the volume of words I need to hit the magic 50,000 by the end of the month.

The idea of NaNoWriMo is to write. To write and write, without worrying too much about quality. Editing is not allowed – the entire experience is one long slog towards the magic target of 50,000 and to hell with whether it’s any good or not.

But I’m quickly beginning to realise the extent to which I naturally build in an editing process as I write. That doesn’t mean I make no progress, it just means I make less progress than I would do if I just let myself write without that element of quality control.

The big question is whether this is a problem. NaNoWriMo was designed to get people writing. So many people around the world are currently writing the novel they’ve always wanted to write, but never thought they could. And if it wasn’t for NaNoWriMo, they probably wouldn’t have written a single word.

But for me, it’s more about making a start, and keeping going until the end. To do that, I need to keep aiming for that magic 50,000 by the end of November. That’s what will keep me going. But what I’ve also realised, is that even if it becomes apparent that I won’t make it, the project will have done it’s job, because there’s now no way I’m not finishing this novel.

That in itself is a fantastic realisation. But I’ve already gained more from this project than a novel. In just these few days, I’ve learned that the writing process for me is about thinking as well as writing. That sounds obvious, but what I mean is that for me, periods of thinking – about plot direction, characterisation and story events – is just as important as actually sitting down to write. These periods of thinking are sandwiched between bouts of writing, and are vital to the writing process. This is why I’m finding it tough to write without breaks. I need that brain input without a keyboard to distract me!

Anyway, that’s enough of this hastily written update. I need to sleep, I need to think, and tomorrow I need to write another 2000 words.

But lame gags aside, writing a novel is something that has stopped me enjoying bookshops for several years now. Because as I wander aimlessly between the shelves, making that difficult decision as to whether to buy the latest Jeffrey Archer or save up for a lobotomy, there’s always the feeling that instead of reading a book, I should be writing my own.

I don’t mean an autobiography. Because, let’s be honest, I’m really not that interesting. I could cover the various genres, I suppose; ‘horror’ would be a swab I had at an STD clinic in 1993, ‘tragedy’ would be when I ruined a £50 T-shirt by jumping in a fountain in 1998 and ‘adventure’ would be when I got lost in Leicester’s one-way system and had to phone a relative for help. Other than that, it’d all be terribly dull.

No, my novel would have to be completely made-up. A work of fiction, you might say. But when to start it?

Er… November, that’s when. Because, like a number of other misguided people around the world, I will be taking part in ‘Nanowrimo‘ throughout November.

‘Nanowrimo’ isn’t, surprisingly, a poetry-writing competition for Nannies. (Sounds interesting? Google ‘granny-verse-ary’). No, it’s a chance for anyone to commit themselves to writing a 50,000 word novel during November, and thus achieve a long-term goal that very few people ever get around to achieving.

The secret to success, apparently, is to just write. Not to write well – but to write. Only after 50,000 words have been committed to the page do you then go through the arduous process of turning what is probably 50,000 words of utter shite into an acceptable work of literature. Or at least a bloody good yarn.

50,000 words in a month is a huge amount. To achieve it, I’ll be basically vomiting – metaphorically, of course – words onto the page.

I do have a plan. There’s a vague idea of a plot. A central character. And even a title and some chapter headings. But the thing about ‘Nanowrimo’ is that you’re not allowed to start writing until November 1st. Which makes the fact that I have the last week of October off work incredibly piss-poor timing!

Why do I put myself through these things? See you on the other side…

The Holly Bush is renowned on the West Midlands scene for being an essential gig for any aspiring comedian, while at the same time not suffering fools thanks to its devoted audience of regulars who know what they like, and what they don’t! So I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a slight frisson of fear as I drove down the M5, wondering how they would react if I ‘did a Brighton’ (see previous posts).

I needn’t have worried. This particular monthly gig is run by Dave Dinsdale, who is a legend on the circuit and who I know from when we used to work together at a certain Birmingham call-centre. I also received a friendly welcome from another Dave – ‘Holly Bush Dave’ as he’s known – and spent a bit of time chatting to other acts.

The comedy happens in one of the bars, which is packed in with punters, all of whom are respectful of the fact that comedy is taking place, so it’s really a dedicated room rather than a bustling bar, and so distractions are minimal.

I was feeling a bit tired, and wanted to leave early because of an early start the next day, so I volunteered to go on first which, as you may know if you’ve read other posts, is my preferred slot anyway.

Dave warmed up the crowd, and then off we went. I’d been nervous on the drive over, mainly I think because the venue is not familiar to me, but I’d relaxed once I got there. Nerves hit me, though, about a minute before I went on, and I really had to make an effort to control my breathing through the first 2 or 3 lines to ensure the nerves didn’t show.

I opened with my Rolo gag, which is always a strong starter, and then went through the same 10 minutes I’d done for the Lou Deemy night. As I got into my stride I relaxed quite a bit, and the material was coming to me very easily.

About 6 minutes in, I did my ’8 more sleeps’ routine, which struck a chord with some of the regulars at the back of the room. After a couple more lines, there was a big laugh that was triggered by a comment from one of the regulars that I didn’t quite hear. I assumed it was an in-joke between them, so I kind of appeared bemused by it (because it wasn’t due to anything I’d said – the laugh was in the wrong place) and carried on. I was really pleased that I’d not let it ‘throw’ me, because it’s the closest I’ve had to a heckle (although it wasn’t one in the traditional sense) and I carried on confidently and with ease.

I think that in terms of remembering the material, it’s the best gig I’ve done. I wasn’t even close to forgetting anything, and the emergency T-shirt remained hidden throughout (hurray!)

I stayed to see two more acts, and the room definitely got ‘livelier’, which I suppose is the big advantage in going on first if you’re not sure about handling hecklers. The downside, of course, is that the laughs aren’t so big – but I discovered afterwards that the first slot at the Bush can sometimes be greeted with silence, so I’m pleased to have bucked that trend.

The Bush crowd, though, are very good-natured hecklers, and actually got some big laughs themselves at a few points, so fair play to them!

I don’t have any more gigs booked at the moment. I start my new job in a week, so I thought it best to give myself a few weeks breathing space. I don’t want to leave it too long, though, because doing two gigs in a week has really made me realise how much good progress can be made when the momentum is there.

Now I know that I know it (?), the main work now is to tighten up the act. There are sections that are a bit clumsy, and the routine doesn’t fit together as well as it could, so there’ll be some changes. I’m hesitant about changing too much too quickly, though, because then the focus shifts back to learning and remembering, rather than the delivery.

If you get a chance to go to one of the Holly Bush comedy nights, I would definitely recommend going. If you’re not driving, I hear the beer is excellent, and it’s a fun room to play if you can handle the occasional bit of good-natured banter.

Where will gig number 6 be, I wonder?

“Oh keep quiet!” I can hear you shout, “If you don’t like it, don’t watch!” Except I did like it. I liked it a lot. It’s a part of my past, not wanting to go upstairs to bed because I was scared of the monster that climbed the lighthouse steps in ‘The Horror of Fang Rock’. It’s also a part of my recent past, as I’ve really enjoyed seeing it come of age, with the rebooted series providing the special effects budget it always deserved back in the day.

But now, let’s face it: it’s a mess.

Steven Moffat, who is almost lauded as a god by ‘Who’ fanatics, has turned the show into something that is almost completely inaccessible to the casual viewer. The ‘oh-so-clever’ plot twists are built specifically to encourage endless chatter on Internet messageboards, and to enable Moffat to sit in press conferences looking so pleased with himself that I’m surprised he doesn’t come out with sentences like “This series is so fantastically perfect, it’s got a cliff-hanger that is actually more exciting than that half-a-second where you know you’re about to come, and can’t do anything to stop it.” Seriously, I reckon he’ll be paraphrasing that exact sentence at the launch of about series 9.

It’s also amazing that someone with such a fine writing pedigree can churn out such a load of pointless shite. I’ve really, really tried to like this series – but the characters have been drawn so two-dimensionally that it’s impossible to care about them at all. When Amy Pond turned out to be a doppelganger, and not the real thing, there was a supposedly ‘poignant’ moment where the Doctor had to kill her. “Oh for god’s sake, get on with it”, I heard myself say. Which is not really the right attitude to take.

The Doctor is now some kind of superhero, arranging entire battles single-handedly, and prancing around with his ‘one-size-fit-all’ sonic screwdriver that is SO useful, I’m surprised that JML don’t advertise them alongside their wonder-mops.

I can imagine Moffat working out the plotting for the next series with about 15 packs of Post-It notes spread out over his kitchen table, with all the yellow ones reserved for the fucking Daleks, which seem to stick their noses into every evil plan going, when the scariest thing about them is that they cost a tenner each in Forbidden Planet. Then, when he’s finished, I bet he cracks open an enormous bottle of Champagne, and then dances around the house, shouting ‘Spoil THAT you messageboard cunts!’ before collapsing in a heap of his own smugness.

Doctor Who is no fun to watch any more, unless you happen to be studying forensic science and want something to practice on in your spare time. Seriously, if you’re considering watching, then make sure you equip yourself with an A4 refill pad, a scientific calculator, a spirograph, a textbook on Euclidean geometry and a pencil.

So, when the new series starts, I’ll be sitting down to a DVD of that Sylvester McCoy series that featured Bertie Bassett*. Yes, it may have been shit. But there was no smug show-runner telling us all how brilliantly awesome the series was going to be. And the plot was so simple that a six-year-old could follow it.

Which, let’s be honest, is who it should be catering for in the first place.

*This is a lie.

Last night was ‘Lou Deemy Soup’ night at the Church Inn in Hockley.

It was held in the function room to the rear of the pub which manages to be spacious yet intimate at the same time – perfect for comedy, in fact.

This was my first time at a ‘Lou Deemy’ night – it’s a variety night that can include anything from poetry to music, and from stand-up to magic. Last night included a bit of everything, all on a comedy theme. This was great, because if there’s one thing Birmingham needs right now, it’s cheering up!

Some people are still understandably hesitant to go out in the city centre so soon after the riots, so the audience was small, but still friendly and supportive.

There were 8 acts on the bill – I went on fourth, just before the break, so there wasn’t too much of a wait. I still went through the whole gamut of emotions as usual beforehand, including that nasty one that makes you think you’ve forgotten the entire routine just before you go on, but I kept nice and calm and started well.

This was the second outing for what I now call the ‘Brighton routine’ (see July 8 entry) and was only the second time I’d attempted to do 10 minutes.

I was happy with how it went. I got the full range of reactions: some jokes went down very well, and some laid an egg. It was very unpredictable – there was one line in particular that usually fails to get a laugh (but which I stubbornly persevere with) and it got a really good reaction. Other stuff, including some material I’d rewritten to make funnier, just didn’t work.

But for me, last night was about remembering and performing the full 10 minutes without blanking. And apart from a minor blank, which I covered well with the old stand-by T-shirt gag (which itself laid an egg, but was redeemed by an ad-lib) I managed to remember everything.

I’m at the Holly Bush next week; some say they’re hard-to-please, and there have certainly been comedy casualties, but it’s definitely a must-do. The Lou Deemy gig has prepared me for when the laughs don’t come in the ‘expected’ places, which can really throw an inexperienced act like myself. I quite like the fact that I have a week before the next gig. One gig a week is probably about right for me, as it gives me a bit of time – but not too much – to digest, re-write and re-learn.

So overall, it was a good experience, and has boosted my confidence back to the level it was before Brighton. I got some nice feedback, and have some points to work on to improve my set for next time. And I seem to be learning not to panic when the jokes don’t work.

Which is the song ‘The Verve’ should have written…

Town was pretty busy, considering, although there was definitely an air of tension. A few stores had extra security on the door – most notably Debenhams – and the occasional tannoy announcements in the Bullring suddenly seemed to be worth listening to. I was certainly keeping one ear on the radio chatter between security guards.

There were shop windows boarded up – Bull St seemed to have faired particularly badly. Maplins and Currys were closed. There were no signs of any fire damage though.

Want to know why this is happening, at least in part? Three words: culture of entitlement. Want a new iPod? Put it on your credit card. Latest movie? Download it for free. New HD telly? Benefits should cover the repayments. For many, the concept of working for something is an alien concept.

For the record, I’m not excusing what these yobs are doing. They should throw the book at all of them. But as a country, we need to find an explanation.

When my parents started out in life, they had little. Furniture was second-hand. Internal décor was sparse. And luxuries were just that: luxuries.

But over time they built up their lives, their belongings and their wealth. They struggled, and they suffered setbacks. But alongside that, they built up a sense of self-esteem, and an appreciation of the value of money and work..

These kids who have rioted have been brought up in a fairytale world, where mobile phones are a must-have. Where satellite TV is a basic essential. And where you’re no-one if you don’t have the right clothes, or car, or phone.

Except the fairy-tale world has come to an end. Banks won’t lend. Prices have gone up. People have literally run out of credit. And the only other way for people to get these things – by hard work – is not an option for those who never thought an education would matter, and who were brought up to think that the state would provide for them.

And unfortunately for the rest of us, these people who have enjoyed what they see as a sustainable lifestyle, have failed to accrue the most important thing of all: a work ethic.

People complain about immigration, and about a lack of jobs. And it’s true that government policy has been too slack on both these fronts. But there are jobs that people in this country simply don’t want to do. Unskilled jobs, that unskilled people can do. But they don’t want to. And why? Because they’ve been brought up to believe that they’re entitled to a rich lifestyle.

They want to party. They want to be famous. They want to dress up and act like supermodels. Like rich celebrities. Like pop stars. Except they’re not. And now the bubble has burst, and they can’t see another way forward, they don’t like it.

The current situation is a unique set of factors that have created a feeling of hopelessness. Young people see no possibility of owning their own home. Even renting is beyond the pocket of most unskilled workers. The competitive nature of the global market has seen working conditions for the poor deteriorate. Even some major companies treat their employees like scum, often expecting them to work extra hours for free, with the thinly-veiled threat of dismissal if they don’t do what’s expected.

Political correctness has created a society with rights for everyone, but without the associated notion of responsibility. And because of ‘human rights’, you can create mayhem and still expect to be treated as if you’re a law-abiding citizen.

I’ve taught some of these kids, who glory in their gang memberships, and revel in the ‘glamour’ of threats of violence and anarchy. I’d ask them what they wanted to do for jobs, and most of them would just look at me and laugh. Some of the more hopeful ones would say they were going to be rap stars. And some of the more realistic ones would say they were going to work as doormen. Except that they’d drive to their job in a BMW. Or a Ferrari.

Don’t ask me what the answers are. I have no idea. I can say that I’ve seen some hope. Since I’ve been working with older teenagers, I’ve met kids who have been hit hard by the realisation that they are unprepared for the world, and want to do something about it. I’ve helped them learn the maths they didn’t show up for at school, and the spelling that they never thought would matter. They’re the lucky ones.

But I’d wager that for every one of those who are empowered enough to change their lives, there are a hundred who will continue to harbour anger and resentment for the predicament they find themselves in.

Which unfortunately means more trouble for the rest of us.