Frank Skinner
I utterly humiliated myself on stage in front of Frank Skinner (who I really liked at the time).

I had done stand-up for a bit, worked some good, biggish venues and co-ran my own twice weekly spot in North London. What I hadn't done a lot of was compereing and I was a lot worse at that than I was at stand up. I wasn't awful at stand up, just at compereing but the gulf between even an average comedian and an actually funny one is quite yawning, a word which used to describe my audiences quite well.

My co-runner of the comedy club decided to invite Frank Skinner (who she knew - he used to go out with her daughter for a while) to the new act night which I was compereing, almost for the first time. I didn't know he was there, which was probably a good thing as I was nervous enough anyway.

I was utterly, utterly shite that night. I mean really bloody awful. To say that I died would be wrong as it would imply that there had been life in my limp performance at the beginning.

I would mumble when introducing the acts, get their names wrong and really not give them any sort of build up.

"Give a big, warm, comedy welcome for...err, who are you again? Come on, who's on next?"

The poor sods, one after the other, died on their arses and I was certainly a big factor in that. Although some of the acts were shite too. That was also my fault as I had booked all of the acts in the first place.

That wasn't the worst bit though. The worst bit was my attempt at 'banter' with the audience.

I asked some random guy "Where are you from?"

"Manchester" he replied (waiting for the inevitable joke that the compere has pre-prepared for any possible reply the audience member can make. That's how *proper* comedians do it).

"Um" I said "My brother went to Uni there a few years ago. I visited him there once. It seemed alright".

Anyway, the room was deathly quiet and just as it really dawned on me just how shit I really was as a compere and was thinking that maybe I should pursue alternate career options, my eyes met and locked with those of Frank Skinner, who up until then I had not noticed in the audience.

His look was of bored disgust, perhaps tinged with pity. Perhaps.

My partner made me thank him for coming when it was over, just to complete the humiliation.

Every time I see Frank Skinner on TV these days I remember just how rubbish I was. Almost as bad as Frank Skinner was in that sitcom he did a while back...maybe there's hope for me yet?
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Wed 7 Dec 2005, 14:24, Reply)