It's not often I go to a comedy gig and am more amused by the audience than the comedian. And when I say the audience I mean the couple sat beside me. Not that John or his support act, Ray Bradshaw, were unfunny. Their material was a bit over-familiar but it still ticked the comedy boxes. It's just that the performance of the two beside me eclipsed that of the main man.
They arrived sharing the easy familiarity of two people who were obviously a couple, each clutching two half-pint tumblers of some coloured alcoholic liquid (I don't know what), I was sitting at the end of a row so got up to let them in. She was bulging out of a needlessly lowcut dress. I say needless because she'd already pulled so why did she feel the need to distract him from her face, behaviour and personality? It may even have fitted her once. He was in smart casual clothing, in no need to impress, and had the kind of tufty haircut that won't be necessary in a few years time once his male-pattern baldness catches up with the rest of his head.
They settle down with their drinks and she pulls out her phone for the obligatory selfies. Then she Whatsapps a message to someone, her fingers lightning-fast, producing swathes of emojis in each sentence like they were an integral element of the English language. By now, the lights are down and John's on stage, sitting on a chair. His material is mostly about relationships and ageing and it seems apt for him to be sitting. Still, she types away, the glow of her screen muted due to a dark background. Eventually, she puts the phone away and plays catch up with her laughs, exaggerating how funny she finds John between sips of her drink.
Then he needs the toilet. We both have to get up to let him out and again afterwards to let him back in. Then she needs the toilet. Lots of apologies directed at me as I have to rise again.
Later in the show, I notice her wriggling in her seat. She's pulling uncomfortable faces then wraps the bag strap around her tiny purse and leans across to apologise again, her words ever so slightly slurring. This time I twist round rather than stand up.
As she staggers back, her heels higher than her head can cope with, her partner has to shout to remind her where her seat is. She isn't wearing the jacket she left with. I remain silent on the matter. None of my business. She flops back down into the seat.
The man, slightly inebriated, begins to repeat John's punchlines after he's told them. She, with surprise, giggles, "Is that what he said?" and laughs hysterically. He takes a picture on his phone of John on stage, forgetting to switch off the flash then checks how it turned out. No having to go to the chemist to get it developed, these days, as John might have remarked.
Then she gets the drunken hiccups.
I count the Mississippi's. It's every five seconds. It's so loud my wife in the row in front can hear her. The general apologies start, often interrupted by another hiccup. He suggests she hold her nose and breath. They continue to chat like it's an episode of Gogglebox. By this time, I'm only half-listening to John. They both laugh at his material about not knowing how to behave when you're out because it's been so long we've all forgotten.
The sad thing is they turned an otherwise ordinary night (sorry John) into something memorable. I need to get out more.
Ticket Price: £47.50 plus £6.40 service charge. Total £53.90 each.
This is comedy gold. Love your style of writing
ReplyDeleteThanks, Sukhvir. It means a lot to know someone else is enjoying my scribbles.
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