Quantity over quality
The TV company I used to work for was doing a doco on a new genetic research centre with a visitor attraction. I was asked to be the crew's runner (lackey) for a day when they were filming in the visitor centre.

They had installed a state of the art motion theatre (like those roller coaster / rally car simulators at the fair and we were to get shots of it during a test run so yours truly got to sit in shot to fill an empty seat. The cameraman asked the operator to max the seat movements so they were obvious on screen and the chairs began to really throw up around.

I hoped it would be cut in the edit, but no there was muggins looking gormless for about ten seconds in the broadcast program.

Shit performance. Check.
Crowd? About 0.7 MILLION viewers.

Beat that.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 16:01, 3 replies)

I once played the part of Pinocchio in a theatre production
But my performance was criticised for being too wooden.

:(
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 15:51, Reply)

Me as The Great Sebastiano
Struggling at first, but they start to thaw for the big finish...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1yA-tQWPB0&feature=player_embedded
(835Rocks, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 15:32, 1 reply)

My Freddy Mercury Moment
On the Liberty & Livelihood March (Yeah the pro-hunting march) I had been asked to take my banjo by the organisers.
I walked along playing hunting songs and lots of people joined in - they are a musical bunch whether you love 'em or loathe 'em
As I walked on to Whitehall I struck up with the best known hunting song, "John Peel"
...tens of thousands of people joined in. There were about quarter of a million on the march.
It was quite a buzz.
Tally ho.
(Shashi, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 15:24, 21 replies)

West Side Filthy Story
As I attended a very small 6th form college at the age of 16, I was roped into performing the part of Diesel in the school production of West Side Story, particularly as the cast required 20 males to play the parts of the opposing gangs.

Much prancing around and singing ensued as the rehearsals continued without error. As the first live performance in front of over 200 local parents and governers approached, I felt fairly confident that I knew my lines and that the night would go smoothly.

What I hadnt accounted for was that my friend Alex, who was playing the part of A-rab was holding an ace up his sleeve.

In one particular scene, dubbed the 'rape scene' the jets have to simulate a rape by lowering 'Baby John' onto Anita, the head girl of the sharks.

As we lowered Ryan (Baby John) onto Suzanna (Anita), Alex whispered inaudibly to the crowd but very much in ear shot of the entire cast in the scene "go on, slip her the finger". The rest of the scene was one of the most excruciating 5 minutes of my life as I and the other 10 lads on stage tried to stiffle the giggles.

Whats more, on the second night of the performance, Alex did the same thing, instead choosing his words more carefully "go on, get your dick wet".

The funny thing is, Ryan and Suzanna are now engaged. It's amazing how a bit of smut can bring 2 people together.
(Eggstrovert isnt patronising you...honest..., Fri 19 Aug 2011, 15:22, Reply)

One thing led to another...
...and after ten years or so writing jokes, I decided that at the age for 45, it might be time to have a go at performing some of them.

So, I stood up in front of a tame audience, and absolutely petrified, I did some dreadfully under-rehearsed stand-up. It was, well, not bad at all. Clicky here, if you've got ten minutes to waste.

Then, I tried it again, and I was shit.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 15:06, 4 replies)

with YOUR wife and sister last night
best sex they ever had so they tell me just waiting for you to go out again tonight for round two with your granny*

























*maybe lies **





















**definitely lies***


















ok i was at home wanking into a hotdog roll ok happy now?
( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 15:05, 1 reply)

I had an accidental bit-part in a cinematic documentary.
I didn't know I was going to be in it, and it made me out to be a bit of a useless wanker – so I can at least vouch for its accuracy – but I thought at least it would give me the chance to see myself on the big screen. BIG MISTAKE. What I didn't realise at the time is that I am going bald and quite clearly had not been to the dentist in 20 years. I've since addressed both of those issues (although I'm still a useless wanker) but trust me, a reverently silent cinema isn't quite the place you want to a shriek-inducing personal revelation like that.

EDIT: I'm also still bald and have a mouth like 8 Ace's garden fence.
(electricteeth, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 14:55, Reply)

I played Fat Sam in the school play of Bugsy Malone

I don't think I got the part because of my acting skills....
(Commander_billybops http://thoughtrambles.tumblr.com, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 14:54, 3 replies)

Performance art: annoying as many people as possible, simultaneously.
When I was in engineering school I took a class in Electromechanical Devices, which was in truth a joint project between the School of Engineering and the School of the Arts to see what odd things artists and engineers could create when working together. There were actually some really cool things that resulted from that- and some utter flops.

The first project was to make something involving a crank that you turned that would cause something to happen. We were not teamed up with anyone yet, so it was art students versus engineers. We had one guy who made wire gears and linkages to simulate the valve train on an engine (yes, he was an engineering student), another who made a clock tower with a Harold Lloyd figure dangling from the hand while a pair of wings flapped... the results were all over the place, and really pretty impressive. We had them all set up for critique, each of us explaining our pieces and demonstrating them.

Then it was Tim's turn.

He led us into a room where there was a cylinder standing with a block stuck to the top edge and a plastic stag sitting on top. On the floor next to it was a fashion ad with some model simpering with glossed lips. He switched off all the lights except for one that shone down on the cylinder.

Tim then took off his shirt to reveal a white tank shirt, then sprayed cologne over himself. He knelt by the cylinder and moved the stag to the edge of the block, then turned a crank to unwind some string and lower the stag toward the photo. It stopped a couple of inches short. He cranked it up and then down a couple of times, then began biting chunks out of the block and spitting them on the floor, working with manic intensity to gouge a deep groove in the styrofoam block until when he turned the crank the nose of the deer kissed the photo. Then he arose and left the room.

The silence was broken by someone asking, "Can we lock the door before he comes back?"
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 19 Aug 2011, 14:53, Reply)

Universally Challenged
I've been selected for University Challenge twice: once when I was a fresher - we didn't get as far as the televised rounds - and then about four years later, when I was a postgrad. The second time, we were invited to the filming; and, because everyone else refused, I was nominated as captain.

We pootled off to Manchester, found the Granada studios, sat around for a few hours, and then it was our turn to compete.

There was a couple of warmup questions before the filming started in earnest, and we did well. Then the cameras went on... and we got thumped. We just about got into a three-digit score, but the other team won comprehensively. There's a website that records all the scores, and I've just looked at it. The margin of victory is chasmic. I could offer consoling reasons for that. But knowing the answer isn't enough: you have to be first to the buzzer, too. And knowing the answer to the bonus questions is of no use at all if you haven't got the starter.

I'd taken the precaution of not telling anyone I was going to be on, in the hope of minimising possible shame. Sadly, University Challenge is - unsurprisingly - watched by rather a lot of university types; and even though my edition was broadcast before the semester started, which meant that there were fewer people around, there were still plenty of staff and research students knocking about the place. People whom I knew. People like my Head of Department.

"I saw you on telly the other night," he said, cheerily, when we met shortly after the broadcast. "You were crap."
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 14:45, 2 replies)

Many times...
...and most of them were good. In many bands, I've had varying levels of success, in one, we used to support Martha Reeves and the Vandellas and had a stint supporting Mark King (from Level 42) - however, it was long before this that I was in a three piece band, we only played local pubs and clubs and we were just doing it for the laughs.
We'd stopped playing together for about 6-7 months, through a variety of reasons - family, home life etc... when I got a phone call from a pub in Kent - we'd obviously left a card or tape (remember them?) behind for them to listen to some time before.
They explained that their village was home to the largest custom bike show in Europe in a few days time and as usual the village was jam packed with bikers wanting live music etc... and that they'd been let down at the last minute by a band they had booked and asked if we could fill in. They also mentioned that as it was short notice that they'd pay accordingly ;-)
I phoned the other two in the band and they agreed to do the gig.
The only problem was that we hadn't played together for a while and were quite 'rusty' together.
We also (stereotypically) summised that as the pub was to be full of bikers that they would naturally be expecting 'heavier' music than we were playing.
We had one hastily arranged practice, then the next day went to the gig.
We were to play for 4 hours - much longer than we were used to, but hey, we sucked it up and got on with it - 'rocking up' (and by that I mean wacking the gain up to 11) our usual set of 'Sultans of Swing' and 'Keep on Running' to pander to our stereotypical perception of the kind of music that gentlemen who prefer riding motorcycles to driving cars would want to listen to.
In fact, Sultans of Swing was our 3rd song of our first set.
The pub was heaving - a pub that could usually have handled say, 150 people had about 450 bikers in it.

Not by our third song it didn't.

There was probably about 10 people left in the whole place - including the staff who had little choice but to stay and listen to us murdering cliched covers of once popular bands.
The landlord, of course - and quite reasonably, refused to pay us.

He and the bass player had a row about payment - I shoved my gear in the car and buggered off in embarrasement as fast as I could, not wanting to show my face, let alone get involved in an argument about being paid for quite easily the worst gig I had ever been involved with!
The bass player went on to play in a Beatles cover band touring the Balearic islands for a year or two before becoming a session player playing on records that you most likely would know - Inspiral Carpets is one that I remember, although there were others that he would point out when they came on the radio.

Thankfully, we all got a lot better over the coming years, but that gig in particular always made me strive to be the best that we could be - if we still had that sort of response, then it would surely be time to throw in the towel!
(dchurch bah, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 13:59, 1 reply)

Oh fucksticks!
There is nothing quite like that feeling when you're on stage in front of close to a thousand people, in the middle of your big musical number, and you've forgotten the fucking words...
(The Luggage is haunted..., Fri 19 Aug 2011, 13:50, Reply)

Not quite in front of an audience...


...but I did allow myself to be dressed up like a tit and filmed in front of a green screen.

Yes. I was plied with beer.

I didn't keep the hair.
( gone, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 13:40, Reply)

Stage fright
In the modern symphony orchestra, the guys at the back, the winds, get lots of nice tunes to play, but actually spend most of their time counting bars. The stress can be considerable; a combination of coming in at the right place, and then playing your bit faultlessly.

The bass clarinet doesn't get much to play, being a rather obscure instrument, and thus spends 99% of its time counting bars.

One particular bass clarinet player had a watch which could measure your heartbeat over a period of time, and he thought it would be interesting to do so in his next concert, printing out the subsequent results on a graph for all to see.

The following week he showed his colleagues the results: as expected, a steady heartbeat for a long period followed by a large, short peak, gradually returning to normal.

"So that's where your solo was?" asked someone, pointing at the peak.

"Erm, not quite. That's when I realised I'd missed it"
(roysin, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 13:31, 6 replies)

sharks, germans and e.t
about 15 years ago, i was in the habit of spending my weekends getting pissed with my mate debbie an her then-boyfriend,glyn. the pub we went to wasn't the greatest, but it was friendly and the booze was cheap.
one friday night, debbie phoned to tell me there was a hypnotist at the pub that night. thinking it'd be a good laugh, we decided to go.
i had no intention of getting up on stage, until debbie dared me to. childish, i know. i said no, so she threw down a challenge: if she could down her pint faster than i could drink mine, i'd get up on stage. if i won, she'd stop asking me. i thought i was safe, she'd never managed to beat me at the pint-drinking before. unfortunately for me, she'd obviously been practicing. having already given my word, i had no choice. i got up.
now, before this, i'd always believed hypnosis to be utter bollocks, so i wasn't really worried. as i sat there with my eyes closed, the hypnotist told me(and everyone else on the stage, i wasn't the only saddo up there) to put my arms out in front of me. he then did his hypno-stuff. weirdly, i don't remember exactly what that was. i didn't feel any different, no drowsiness or anything.
then, he says i'm swimming. "yeah, right," i thinks to myself. "what a load of...wait, why are my arms moving? my arms won't stop moving! I CAN'T STOP MY ARMS MOVING!"
and that was it, he'd bloody done it. it's lucky that i can't remember a lot of what i did that night but, among the highlights are:
swimming one-armed away from a shark, which had eaten my other arm.
crying and screaming at an imaginary telly for the bad men to "let poor E.T go!"
crawling along under tables and chairs with a water pistol, looking for german spies
breaking up a party i believed was happening at my parents' house while they were out. i gave debbie a bollocking for that one, i thought she'd invited everyone to my folks' house for this party.
throwing a drink in a man's face for reasons i can't recall
getting "married" to a similarly hypnotised bloke on stage.
it felt like i was up there for about ten minutes, when in fact it was more than 2 hours. it was a very weird feeling, but not half as weird as seeing photos behind the bar a week later of my hypnotic wedding!
2 years those pictures were there, 2 fucking years. i've never gone near a hypnotist again and i don't intend to.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 13:28, 4 replies)

The day I became a book-thumping evangelist...
I'm not one for confrontation. I hate it. I prefer to be left alone. It's much nicer. But sometimes people say things which are so monumentally stupid, one HAS to stand up and be counted. This was one of those days...

I was walking through my town centre just going from shop to shop seeing whether there was anything worth buying. There wasn't. But as I criss-crossed through the town centre I kept walking past a crowd of people who were intently listening to a family (a rather extended one) spouting off about the Bible. Although I eschew religion, I've no right to impose my views on anyone else, so I just carried on. Anyway, as I walked away from them I heard the head of the family shout out these words:

"People. Do not let others brainwash you. Evolution is a myth! There is no scientific evidence behind it. It is a plot to discredit the one, true God!"

I stopped in my tracks and stared at the crowd. They'd hit my button. If you believe in an invisible man in the sky, fair play to you. If you try to discredit evolution with your creationist nonsense. Then we have a problem. A major one.

I burrowed my way into the crowd to listen further. I didn't like what I heard. Then, I reached my breaking point.

"Even the heretic, Charles Darwin, didn't believe in his theory. He said 'To suppose that the eye could have been formed by natural selection, seems, I freely confess, absurd in the highest degree..'"

"Bollocks!" came a squeaky voice from the crowd (my voice is rather squeaky) "You lying sack of shits!" That was probably not the best thing to say. I stormed up onto the stage.

"Are you calling us liars?"
"Yes, I bloody am! Charles Darwin DID say that, but what did he say right after that sentence...?"
"We don't know but the Bible says..."
"Well I'll tell you, shall I?! Charles Darwin did say 'To suppose that the eye could have been formed by natural selection, seems, I freely confess, absurd in the highest degree' but, and I'm paraphrasing here, he went on to say that 'when it was first proposed that the Earth went around the sun, common sense dictated that the theory couldn't be true because we could see the sun moving. We now know that is not the case.'. So, in essence, he's saying that although I can't fathom how the human eye evolved, that's not to say that it didn't. It could be counter-intuitive."

The bible bashers looked very rattled at this stage. More accurately, the LEAD bible basher looked rattled, but I'll come to that later. I carried on my diatribe.

"So, these people tried to mislead you with that quote. If they tried to be disingenuous with that, what else have they said which could be a half-truth? Also, you lot have broken one of the ten commandments. 'Thou shall not bear false witness'."

The leader hit back, "But shouldn't people be given both sides of the debate???" They hit another button with me

"Other side of the debate? OTHER SIDE OF THE DEBATE??? There IS no 'other side of the debate'! Creationism is not a equally balanced but opposing view. It's a bunch of half-baked, logic skewing hypotheses with no evidence to back it up! And furthermore, where did you get the impression that science is a democratic process? If you mix hydrochloric acid with sodium hyroxide you end up with sodium chloride (salt) and water. But if we had a referendum and 100% of the vote said 'we believe if you mix hydrochloric acid and sodium hydroxide you'll end up with sliver nitrate and hydrofluoric acid', does that mean if you mix hydrochloric acid and sodium hydroxide again, you'll get different end products?! NO! You don't change the laws of the chemistry by a vote! Likewise, all the evidence we have, and we have a lot of it, points towards evolution, and until someone has enough evidence to point to another theory, then, AND ONLY THEN, will we entertain the theory. We need evidence, not a vote!"

I, then, walked off the stage. I tried to resist the urge to stage dive. Misrepresenting science by a bunch of ill-educated religiosos in a bid to add credence to "the one, true God", was something I was not permitting while I was around.

As I walked away from the crowd, I felt a rush of adrenaline. I normally avoid public speaking as I don't like being the centre of attention, it makes me uncomfortable. I suppose that's why I like the internet and the anonymity it brings. But I learnt that day, if it's something you feel passionately about, you won't worry about the fear.

I looked back at the crowd and saw that the lead bible thumper was trying to rally his troops after being exposed as a bunch of half-truth tellers. But what was really interesting was the rest of his flock starting to doubt their leader. After all, if he was equivocating about science and evolution, what else has he been equivocating about? I never saw them again, but I hope they didn't lose their faith but were a bit more respectful toward science. I hope they heed the words a famous person:

"Don't take my word for it. Think for yourself..."
(Don Draper is, indeed, mad and a man., Fri 19 Aug 2011, 13:28, 9 replies)

several times..
I have appeared on tv in the days of only three channels.
Massive audiences, (not that you see them) but nothing beats the day I played Didjeridu for Rolf Harris at our local bookshop.
On September 11th 2001
Rolf's a legend.
(lordy lordy, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 13:27, 2 replies)

Silly Jahled, we were only having a laugh.

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 13:13, 4 replies)

I have
It went alright.
( Theoban What of it, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 12:58, Reply)

Nobody loves a smartarse
I've always loved learning facts, so at high school when they were looking for potential team members to participate in BBC Radio Stoke's Top School Quiz, I volunteered, got through the in-school qualifier and ended up as team captain. Several (pre-recorded) appearances on local radio ensued with no disasters, fortunately.

Because of that experience, when I reached 6th form the Headmaster invited me to be one of the school's 2 representatives in a live debate on Signal Radio into private schools (I was on a scholarship). That was more of a disaster - I only said 2 words in the whole hour and all the time was sweating like a Brazilian electrician on a tube train.

Fast forward 20 years and the smartarse gene kicked in again on holiday, when during the evening's "entertainment" the audience was asked to identify the TV show for which the theme was being played over the PA. After a few people got it wrong, smartarsiness overcame the fear of being singled out and I correctly identified the "Stingray" theme and awaited my prize. But NOOOOOOOOOOOO, my embarrassment was only just beginning, because that was just the qualifying question.

The three people who had correctly answered questions were dragged onto the stage and made to sing the theme from a soap (I got Eastenders and restricted myself to the instrumental version with der-der-ders rather than Anita Dobson's execrable "Anyone Can Fall in Love"). Despite nearly popping every facial capillary as I turned beetroot, I won.

My prize? A bottle of the cheapest, nastiest fizzy white Spanish wine I've ever had the misfortune to taste. It was SO worth the angst. Not.

I'll tape my gob shut next time.
( Snappyuk gets BIGGER with free sample., Fri 19 Aug 2011, 12:51, Reply)

Don't get stoned and go to a lecture on semantics.
It won't make you really zone in and learn intensley; you'll end up staring at the ceiling fan.

Following that, you may well get to the seminar afterwards where, on being invited to share your views, you may well find yourself standing up and explaining that it's all a load of bollocks, because a cat is not called a cat because it's not a rat or a mat; a dog is called a dog because it doesn't say "Bark" or "Woof" but rather "Dog! Dog! Dog!" and that's why the French call them "chien" because all they've got is shitty little poodles that sit there all day going "Chien! Chien! Chien!".

At this point, you may notice that everyone is staring at you bemusedly, and that the two attractive girls at the back of the room are laughing at you.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 12:48, 1 reply)

I was a background character
In my primary school nativity play. Beat that.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 12:45, 9 replies)

Important lessons
I’d been a best man before, and it was a doddle I thought. So when a friend approached me many years ago and asked me to perform the same duties at his wedding, I jumped at the chance.

There were a couple of issues that should have put the brakes on this idea. Primarily, the fact that I’d only known this guy for two years, and had only spent about a third of that time living anywhere near him. Our knowledge of one another – as friends go – was pretty limited.

BUT but but … it was an odd time in my life. Everything was ok. I had a house, a good job, a partner. No problems anywhere. And unfortunately for the groom, my self-worth was inflated to ridiculously smug proportions. In short, I was a comfortable twat, and felt I’d been asked to be best man because, in short, I was the best fucking man. Oh yeah. It didn’t matter that I had a mere handful of anecdotes about our time together, that I’d never shared a single secret with him, that our acquaintance was based purely on getting pissed in pubs. I’m a fuuuuuunny guy. A hoot. Everybody in the bar wants to know this crazy giggle-machine. I’m Norm out of Cheers, for fucks sake. NORM! That’s right.

I began writing the speech a week before the wedding. Two bottles of wine in, I was like Bob goddamn Monkhouse. All my joke cylinders were firing. The pen could barely keep up with my diamond-mining brain. “Oh man,” I chortled, “I’m going to kill this crowd!” This speech had everything: mum-pleasers, dad-pleasers, some edginess, some classics, heartfelt sentiment … it couldn’t fail. I folded it up and resolved not to look at again until the morning of the ceremony. “Shouldn’t you practice it, maybe try it out on me first?” asked my ever-helpful, pragmatic girlfriend.
I smiled pityingly “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t you understand? There’s magic on these pages. And magic, my dear, the magic of comedy, is a fragile thing. You’ve only to whisper it and POOF, it’s away in the wind, gone forever, never to be laughed at by those for whom it was meant.”

Stupid, stupid boy.

The day of the wedding came. All was smiles and love, as is usually the case with weddings. At dinner I sat with the bride and groom, accepting all compliments with good grace, about how handsome we looked, how gentlemanly. “Ah, enough about me!” I’d laugh as I gulped another glass of wine, “how about the groom eh? He’s trying too!” Then the distinct ring of a spoon on a crystal glass – it was time for the speeches!

First up was the bride’s brother, who had given her away. “No probs about being upstaged here” I thought confidently. This fresh-faced whippersnapper is so nervous he looks like he’s about to take a shit in those hired slacks.
He started with an obvious gag. Everyone laughed. “Internet” I muttered under my breath. Then he fired off another – more laughs, this time with real gusto. Shit, he’s actually funny. And they kept coming. Joke, joke, joke, compliment, joke. The crowd loved him. Then he switched gears and gave some family history, and, no way, holy shit, the fucker is actually crying … the bride’s getting up to hug him! He’s choking back the tears and BANG, a final joke that slays the room and leaves them cheering. Down he sits, wet-faced and grinning shyly. Everyone’s slapping his shoulders and telling him what a damn fine job he’s done, a damn fine job. Then quiet slowly descends on the room again, and it’s my turn.

To this day, I’m not sure exactly what happened over the next twenty-five minutes. I’ve refused all offers to watch the video, although I’m assured it makes for uncomfortable viewing. My memories of it are fragmented – brief bursts of nauseating shame that make me physically curl forward, as if to protect myself from my own failings.

I opened with the line “How the fuck do you follow THAT?”, pointing a burdened finger at the teary-eyed youth beside me, before hurling my script across the room. Silence. My memory got me through the opening lines, which were met with the laughter of gratitude – at least he’s trying to make a conventional speech. Then the doubt crept in. Every time I was about to yell “cunt” I’d look down and see a small child staring up at me with confusion in her eyes. My head swam. The comedy I’d so brilliantly crafted started falling away from me … a snatch of it would occasionally wave and I’d grab it, thrust it forward for these bastards’ delight, and get … nothing. Come on grandma! I’m suggesting the groom caught bad AIDS off a hooker! Isn’t that funny? Aren’t I funny?”

It turns out I’m not. Over the course of the speech I realised that. And for the final ten minutes, I brokenly rambled about the previous couple I’d been best man to, and how they were now in the middle of a particularly bitter and angry divorce. “It’s the kids I feel for, those poor poor kids.” I glanced to the groom and saw him drawing his finger menacingly across his throat.

“To the bride and groom!” I whimpered.
I sat down, and everyone clapped.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 12:44, 7 replies)

I have played
at the Albert Hall, the Barbican, at the Menin Gate, in Köln cathedral square, in Ulaanbaatar, at Cardiff Student Union and my local Wetherspoons.

But I think the highlight of my career on the boards was when I played "The Cripple" in Rats! The Musical at school.
(cypherspace is not a toaster, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 12:41, Reply)

Get 'em on!
Pearoast.....

A sprawling Manhattan loft was where I holidayed with friends using their spare room. Like all the other rooms in the place, mine had no blinds/curtains, just huge plate glass windows. I guessed this was because the occupants of neighbouring buildings were too NY busy/too NY blase to look in. I was back in my room drying off after an afternoon shower - full monty for several minutes, all my bits on display as I got round to dressing. Just as I zipped up, I glanced out to see the windows on three floors of the building opposite hung with gawping men who immediately roared and applauded my reverse strip....!!

Slightly mortifed I gave them a small wave at which their muffled cheers came again shaking the glass in my window... ooer!
I wasn't tempted to show off again, but more than a few of them hooted over at me whenever I went into my room after that. Turns out they were a gay cable-tv channel... I could have made a fortune!

modest to a tee but no apologies for length....
(Bergamot B , has not been to the office since, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 12:38, Reply)

Attracting an Audience
On a night out with a few work colleagues, I ended up a bit worse for wear quite early on in the evening. This resulted in me losing my phone in a crowded bar in the centre of town. I should mention that normally, without the influence of drink, I’m always aware of where my phone, wallet and keys are, but the more I drink, the less concerned I get about them.

Being as drunk as I was, I began scrambling around on the small dance floor, hoping to find my precious phone. I think at one point, a small circle of people formed round me, thinking I was doing some sort of funky-worm dance. One girl called me a pervert as she thought I was trying to peer up her skirt. To be honest, I probably was.

The search for my phone proved to be fruitless and there was only one thing left for me to try; an announcement to the whole of the bar.

I made my way up a flight of stairs to where the DJ was playing. He was positioned on a sort of balcony, looking over the top of the dancefloor.

“Yes mate, what song do you want?”

“No. I don’t want to make a request. I want to make an announcement”

“Sorry, you can’t do that”

“Please, I’ll be quick I promise, this is really important”.

Surprisingly, he handed me a microphone. I leant across and turned the volume on his equipment right down which pissed him off immensely. Everyone on the dance floor turned to look up at us, and were greeted with the sight of me, microphone in hand, swaying slightly. I began to speak.

“Sssshhhhh. Sssshhhhhh. Everyone, listen. I have an announcement to make. Shhhh! SHHHH! You over there, be quiet a minute.”

By now you could have heard a mouse fart. I was doing well. Then a couple of blokes over by a fruit machine started talking to one another.

“Oi. You two. You as well, I need everyone silent. Right, now I have your attention, I need you all to do something. I have lost my phone. What I’m going to do is ring my number and I want everyone to listen out for it. Whoever finds my phone will be treated to drinks for the rest of the night. First I need a volunteer”

The DJ then tried to grab the mic from my hand.

“I won’t be a minute mate. Nearly done”

I looked down at the people below me and realised that everyone single person in the place was looking at me and it made me very nervous. A few of them had their hands in the air. ‘Why the fuck do they have their hands in the air’ I wondered to myself…’Ahh, yes, I needed a volunteer’.

“You in the blue top. Have you got a phone?”

The girl I was pointing at nodded.

“Ok, come up here”

She came up and I asked for her phone.

“Right everyone, here we go. Drinks for the rest of the night remember, should you find my phone. Here goes, I’m ringing it”.

The place was absolutely silent. The DJ was fucking fuming, but I had a crowd on my side now so there was nothing he could do. We were all stood, waiting. I imagined a mass bundle breaking out once we heard my phone, as the people below me jostled to get to it first.

Then I heard ringing.

The ringing was loud; my phone was definitely in the building. The ringing was very loud in fact. I felt inside my jacket pocket; there was something in there. My hand reached in, and I pulled out my phone. I started laughing.

I was escorted off the premises within a couple of minutes.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Fri 19 Aug 2011, 12:21, 12 replies)

The balcony fool!
In the early 90s I was at St Georges Hall in Bradford watching Morrissey and had a decent view up in the stalls, stage left. I'd seen him previously on the tour in Blackpool and it was supposedly being filmed, as a result the security staff were helpfully aiding the audience in their quest to get on the stage and fling themselves adoringly at their foppish idol.
At Bradford however this wasn't the case and everyone down in the pit were being pushed back which annoyed me for some inexplicable reason.
I decided I wasn't going to put up with this audience free performance so planned my assault on the stage for the last song of the night. 'Shoplifters of the world' had just kicked in and that was my cue to jump from the balcony onto the large speaker stack and make my way down to the stage - so far so good. The crowd roared and I felt like a ninja superfan. That's until I leapt onto the lowest speaker which, unlike it's hard wooden peers, had a canvas covering which I promptly drilled through and shaved my shins down to the bone as they ran down the inside of the case. Luckily adrenaline prevented me from crying on stage in front of 3000 laughing faces and I managed to stumble to Mozzer and plant a sloppy kiss in his ear before being dragged off stage.
It could have been so much worse and was my first and last foray onto any stage.
(lopezthecatkiller has not killed a cat since....., Fri 19 Aug 2011, 12:10, 4 replies)